The First Drawback
by WanderlustandFreedom
Summary: After trying so hard to protect and provide for his family, Harry Potter is not going to let the Capitol take that away. Telling his best friend and hunting partner Ron to keep his family safe while he fights, he goes to the arena to find, spectacularly, love in a certain smart-aleck bookworm. Harry X Hermione
1. Chapter 1

**This was adopted off of Author Txtn833's site with her permission. The story idea originally belongs to her.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter or the Huger Games.**

 **I can take a bit of press. Hit me with your best shot on how my grammar/spelling is and I'll fix it. Just make sure it helpful and not hindering.**

 ***A drawback is what happens in nature when the water rushes out to the ocean and off the beach before a tsunami.**

Cold nipped at his nose and bit bitterly into his shoes. Tears from the cold were left frozen on his face. He wiped them away futilely, ignoring the crushing cold in his foot, and continued on.

It was April, and the late winter was taking its toll. In the town square, people would huddle around the smallest fires, in the seam, people would lay the frozen bodies of their dead to rest in the blue snow outside.

And in the Hob, people made the best of things.

Like him.

He pushed open the door to the old abandoned warehouse that had probably been standing since the rebellion itself and felt the semi-neutral air warm his skin. Rats scurried along the beams away from him. The Hob was packed today, but there wasn't any heat difference. People walked back and forth, buying this, trading that. No one noticed when he walked in, they were all too busy hunting down something for their freezing, starving families to use. A coat three sizes too small and worn through the sleeves. A pair of boots with a hole in the toe.

The better stuff, he knew, was made by Sarah McKinley. A pretty young mother with a goat and a talent for threads. Hers and the Mayors were the only District 12 families who were warm year after year. Even though goat hair was rough and hard to work with, she made due and actually make quite a profit for her things.

He stamped off his boots to prevent mud accumulating in the dirt-floored building, and then headed through, hauling his game bag over his back. He easily slipped through the people bartering amongst the shopkeepers and then found his way to Sadea.

Several other shopkeepers called out, to say hello and determine in their minds whether today might be a good day to strike a trade with the young teen. "Hello, Harry! How are you?" "Cold out there, isn't it Harry?" "Good hunting today, Harry?" He nodded to each one, shaking his head at the one who asked.

"Not really. A few birds, a rabbit, and a small wild turkey."

Several people sighed, and he found his way over to Greasy Sae. Her small booth was packed today, mainly with young mothers and oldest daughters looking for a meal to share with children and siblings. A few of the older daughters watched him, and he knew why. The same reason he was here. He was providing for his family. He knew they wanted him, or someone like him. Someone who would provide, love them in their old age, make sure their children were warm and well fed.

They were living off a daydream. There were no such people in District 12.

"Hello, Sadea." He said with the air of a man who was pretending he had something when he was coming here with near nothing at all. "Hello, Harry," Sadea said, playing along with his game. "You've grown since I last saw you."

Harry smiled at his old friend and long-time business partner. "Since yesterday?" She just smiled, the wrinkles in her mouth deepening. "Yes." She replied softly "You're growing like a weed."

He smirked and they both laughed. Sadea pulled herself together and asked, "What have you got for me today?" He put the game bag on the table without a word and she opened it up. He saw the grimace cross her face and winced instinctively. "I know it's not much, but it's definitely more than you've seen all day from anyone else, and the woods are dead empty today. Please understand." His voice dropped on the last bit, and he knew she noticed.

She looked up and made eye contact. Her gray seam eyes were darker than most, and they seemed to bore into his own. He wondered if she was trying to intimidate him, or if she just wanted a view of his own strange eyes. Vivid green, he was told. Like the forest in the summer. All the girls loved them. "9 birds, a feather-brained deliciousness and a cottontail?"

He nodded glumly, mentally calling up his list of how much stuff they needed at home. New shoes for Neville and Luna, jeans for Neville since he'd outgrown his pair and now they looked more like shorts than jeans. The kid grew vertically only, he swore. He decided he'd have to forgo a new razor for dad, and he'd have to ignore his own need for boots, socks, and good gloves he could wear while hunting.

Sadea averted her eyes and glanced in the bag. "How 'bout you keep the feather-brained deliciousness. You need it for your family."

Harry sighed, smiled, and took the bag back from her to pull out the turkey. "Are you sure you don't want the wattle?" He asked Sadea teasingly. "I'll let you have it free?"

"Bah! Who says no to a free wattle?" She shrugged and chopped it off with her butcher's knife and added it to the pot on the stove. Harry watch emotionlessly. He'd seen the show a million times before, though the knife had scared him to death when he had first started coming here alone. She emptied out his game bag, carefully marking each animal, and then gave it back to him, along with a couple coins and some hot broth.

He thanked her graciously. Sadea was like a grandmother to him. He was about to be on his way when Sadea called: "Are you signing up for tesserae this year?"

The smile vanished from his face.

"Is it time already?" He asked weakly. She nodded solemnly, and he saw the pain in her eyes.

The Hunger Games. The Capitol's bloodfest. Each district, one through 12, sending in two tributes, a boy, and a girl, to battle to the death in an arena on live TV. It was a mandatory viewing, and Harry had seen the blood, the guts, the death too many times. Every year, more children. Every year, 23 deaths. The tributes were picked by having everyone submit their names at least once and then picked out of a glass ball. Entering your name more than once gave you tesserae, or grain and oil.

"Yeah, I guess so." He answered numbly. "I mean, we need all we can get here."

She nodded again, this time sympathetically. After all, it wasn't really so long ago that she was seeing her own children leave toward their deaths.

There is nothing more to say, though. She turns away and makes herself busy. Harry adjusts the game bag on his shoulder as she calls out the last words she will say to him tonight. "Tell your dad and siblings I said hi."

"I will." The promise sounds dry and pointless in his mouth, but he makes it anyway.

He weaves his way back through the crowds of people and pushes the door back open. The cold bites into his face, but he ignores it. The streets are deserted and he makes it to the bakery without being spotted or stopped

Ron was already there.

Ronald Weasley was the youngest of all the sons of the baker. Ron had big hands and feet but was something else with traps, snares, and frostings. His five brothers and one sister sometimes outshined him, but he worked hard to help support them. Ron had helped Harry shoot this game and he intended to share the profit with his best friend.

His heart skipped a small beat at the baker's daughter, a red-haired girl named Ginevra, more commonly known as Ginny. He raised a fist and knocked, and within seconds, the door swung open.

He felt the hot air from the ovens wash over him. "Hello, Harry. Ron will be out as soon as he finishes those sticky buns…" She trailed off and ushered him inside.

He nodded. "Thanks, Ginny."

The oldest son, Bill, walked past with Charlie, both carting bags of flour. Fred and George, the twins, were pounding the dough to make cookies, cakes, rolls, and bread, though they looked to be covered in a great deal of the sticky paste themselves.

Ginny was shaping the pastries, and putting them in the multiple ovens. Her hips moved slightly, and Harry tried not to notice because he really didn't want to notice it. He wanted Ginny to be a sister. Nothing more.

Ron, as usual, was on frosting duty. He deftly dripped the creamy icings onto a plate of cinnamon rolls. He glanced up briefly and his eyes and smile communicated a warm hello to Harry before he turned his attention back to smothering the icing on the warm buns.

He didn't mind waiting, it gave him time to sort out his thoughts. Like the upcoming Hunger Games. And his dad, brother, and sister at home.

And Ginny. He knew his feelings for Ginny came only from never having a mother figure, and the fact that she was good with children and household chores, combined with her natural beauty made her… desirable to him.

He sighed and shook his head. He had other things to worry about.

Like how he was going to feed and clothe his family if dad kept bringing home nothing and what he did make could never be stretched to cover for four people. The woods were dead empty this time of year, the Hob almost there. The Weasley's would help him, but even the length of their efforts was limited and with the two growing children in Harry' family…

He loved Neville and Luna, but sometimes…

Ron stepped out from behind the counter. He smiled at Harry and grabbed some dinner rolls off the counter. Harry removed the turkey and split the gold pieces. Ron left momentarily to get a bowl and a knife, and they split the stew. Ron gave Harry some rolls to take home, and Harry let Ron have first pick of the turkey, which Ginny immediately took to cook.

He wrapped himself up as warm as possible and then thanked each of them before returning to the cold. His foot sunk two or three inches as he left the road and began working his way to the Seam. The snow got deeper and the cold throb began again in his foot. He ignored it, knowing he would be home soon and could take off his too-small-shoes. He took a deep breath and kept moving.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm reuploading this after reading it and finding it horrendous. As a writer of any sort, you learn that everything is perfect until you upload it. This natural phenomenon cannot be avoided, and no matter how many times you read it before uploading, you will** _ **always**_ **find something wrong the second it's online.**

The dark house where they lived was in desperate need of a new coat of mud and it needed a new door to keep the drafts out. Harry's feet ached as he lugged his feet inside. The moment the door had shut tight with a thud, he was ripping off his shoes with gritted teeth. He heard a loud rip, and frantically searched the fabric. When he saw the damage, he scowled. The seam between the shoe sole and the fabric had ripped and he could see the worn bits where he had worn them for two years now. He rubbed his stiff feet and pulled the other off. There wasn't a rip, and he sighed in relief.

The house was cold, and the wind blew in from invisible holes in the wall. It seriously needed to be patched, but the ground was frozen solid and there was no way he could get mud with it this cold. He walked into the kitchen and started a fire using a few small bits from their extensive winter stash. The only thing they had of surplus in this house. He took a big pot from where he'd set it last night and walked outside to fill it up with the white crystals that had been falling on his face as he walked home.

After the snow was melting steadily above the crackling fire, he moved his snow boots in front of it so the snow would melt and evaporate. He cleaned the rest of the turkey and cut it up to be stewed. He considered adding a little bit of Greasy Sae's stew to it so that her spices would mix a little with his, but then fished in the cupboard to find the small jar of Hickory Salt he had boiled down back in the fall. Back then they'd had so much salt they didn't know what they would do with it, but now the stock was nearly depleted. He'd used a lot of it to try and preserve some of the things he shot.

The front door opened as he was adding the salt to the water-and-slush mixture that was quickly forming in the pot. He heard the footsteps that were much softer than his own, and then put the salt on a block of wood. "Harry?" He heard a boy called from the hallway. "Where are you?!"

"Kitchen!" He called back. He heard thumps from the next room and then Neville and Luna appeared in the door, breathless, their cheeks red from the cold. "Hello, Harry!" Neville said cheerily. His dark hair flat against her head. "Did ya get anything good today?" Harry shook his head quietly but tried to smile at the two. "No, not today. But maybe tomorrow."

Luna gnawed on her cheek, which was losing the cold color quickly in the fire-warmed room. "You said that yesterday. She said in a high voice. Her eyes seemed to stare at a point behind Harry. He sighed. "Yeah, I know." He swallowed and tried to think of something good to tell them. "I got a turkey. And Ron gave us some rolls."

Neville nodded distractedly. "That's nice of him." Harry swallowed at the blatant reminder he had, in fact, taken some charity, and watched his younger brother. The last of the slush disappeared from the pot, and Harry went to make sure the meat wasn't drying out before his brother spoke. "My teacher announced that the Hunger Games will be starting back up next month." He swallowed visibly. "My teacher said that those of us who are twelve will have to put our names in at least once."

He tried to think of something to say. "Yeah, you will. It'll be okay though. They won't pick you. It's one in about a thousand other kids." He heard Luna shift her weight on the floor and Neville said quietly "Yeah, and your name will be in thirty-five times." There was a long silence as I stared at him. "Neville," he said quietly. "Don't think that. I'll be fine. You'll be fine." Harry knelt down so he was on eye-to-eye level with his brother. "I promise."

Neville shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Do you think I should sign up for tesserae?"

Harry felt his muscles all tense and Neville's eyes widened at the look that passed his face. "No." He said with fierceness. "Don't you dare try it, Neville. Absolutely not."

"Well, why not?" Neville asked. "This is your last year. You'll only be allowed to bring home food for this year. Next year I'll have to do it so Luna doesn't have to!" The floor suddenly creaked as Luna hopped off her chair. She left the room on soft, bare feet. Harry stared at the sores on her ankles from her too-small-shoes. Her socks, he knew, practically disintegrated last December. She was in desperate need of shoes, and he could not provide.

"Neville, listen. I don't want you to take out tesserae. I want you to stay safe. The odds are one in a thousand other kids, even if you are one in a million." Neville nodded quietly and then looked to the door Luna disappeared through. "I think I hurt Luna."

Harry nodded quietly. "Go talk to her, please? I have to watch this." He eyed the pot, which was beginning to simmer. Neville nodded but stayed where he is. "Erm, Harry? I hate to say this, but Luna really needs some new shoes. Or socks, at the very least. Her feet are all cut up." Harry sighed and nodded. "I know. I need to figure something out."

"You would have a little more to trade if I take out some tesserae."

Harry glared in his direction sternly, and Neville's shoulders fell. "Just a thought." He mumbled as he turned and left. Harry held his gaze until Neville left the room and then let his shoulders fall. Even if he did let Neville take out tesserae, it still wouldn't be enough. Neville was fooling himself. They would just be a little more secure from the brink of starvation. That was it. He picked up the turkey and put it in the pot. He wished he had flour or cornstarch to thicken it. Or vegetables to give it flavor…

He stared at the remnants of the turkey. Feathers and guts. He picked up one of the feathers and studied it. Long, pretty. He could stuff them in a pillow or…

Or he could trade them.

He detached them each from the skin gently, picking the big, long, sturdy ones. The small fluffy ones he would keep, stuff those into a pillow or something. He lined them up parallel and ties the ends to keep them from tangling.

The water in the pot was turning brown when he heard the door open for the last time. "Hallo?" A voice called from the hall. "Dad!" Someone called from somewhere in the house. Harry stirred the bottom of the pot to make sure nothing was sticking and then moved toward the door. He ducked into the hallway and saw his dad hugging Luna and Neville to his chest. He stepped forward.

James Potter had a sort of light in his eyes and a charisma that was hard to match. Even then, covered from head to toe is coal dust and as exhausted as he's ever been, he still made the small, shabby house warmer.

Harry stretched his hand forward and shook his dad's hand with a smile. "Was there anything good today?" Harry asked quietly. Dad's smiles dropped off his face and shook his head. "Just a few chunks of nothing. I'm sorry, son." Harry dropped his eyes at his father's apology. A small reminder that he was the one who was actually in charge of the house and how money and other income was used. He nodded and glanced at Luna's feet sadly. She tried to pull her pants down to hide them, but the pants were too small too. "I got a turkey in there. Better check on him." He turned and ducked back under the door into the small room. After checking the stew, he filled three bowls and gave them to Dad, Luna, and Neville. Through a broken pane window, he saw a number of people outside in the bitter storm, Small children, miners, and young mothers, all holding bowls and hoping for a small bit of food. He moved quickly and let them in.

He filled bowl after bowl for the poor people, and when everyone who came had gone, he scraped the last bit of broth and meat out and put it in a bowl. He saw lights slowly flicker out in shops in town and decided he'd have to try dinner later. In a minuscule living room with only a couch collapsing in on itself, a TV only turned on during mandatory showings, and a thin rug, Neville, and Luna sat playing chess against their father.

"Dad, can I borrow your boots? I need to make a quick trip to town." He asked, trying to summon up the strength to act like he had a brilliant idea. God, he was an awful actor. His father looked up and nodded. "Don't freeze to death out there though. Come home soon." Harry nodded and went to the front door. He pulled on his father's larger boots and sighed in relief at the lack of tightness on his sore feet.

The feathers tucked up in his pocket, he hurried out into the cold. The lights in town were fading quickly, but he made it to Sarah McKinley's house before she turned out her lights. He knocked a little louder than usual, though. Sarah opened the door, flipping her light hair around her shoulder and balancing her son on her hip. "Harry." She said lightly by way of greeting. "What brings you here."

"Mrs. McKinley, sorry to bother you, I was wondering if you would be willing to trade for some feathers? My sister Luna, she desperately needs some socks or something. Her feet…" He trailed off, sure that Sarah already knew the story all too well. "Well, actually I could use some feathers here and there. What kind of quality are they?" Harry pulled the bundle out of his pocket. There were a good fifty or sixty long feathers in the bundle and he saw Sarah's eyes light up a little.

"Well, I have a number of socks in here. How many are in that bundle?" Harry shrugged. "I haven't counted. I wanted to make sure I could get here in time." She nodded and then opened the door a little wider. "Come in." He nodded his thanks and stepped past the threshold. The house was warm and smelled light of dust and fire. He saw bits of cloths and handkerchiefs here and there where she had stuffed them into cracks by windows and the door. In neat baskets in a small room next to him, she had stacked yarns, cloths, and small things like handkerchiefs and socks. She untied the bundle and put the baby down a safe distance from the fire and her things. She counted out the bundle and looked at him. "Why don't you take two pairs of socks. One for your brother and one for your sister."

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected her to be so generous. She nodded toward one of the baskets. "Make sure to get some thick ones." She said and picked up the baby. After only a second, Harry skirted toward the basket and quickly felt for two thick pairs of socks. "Thank you so much, Sarah."

"You're welcome. If you get any more feathers like that, you should bring them over. I'll always be in the market for them.

He nodded. "I'll remember that. Thanks again." He reached for the door handle and she waved a little as the baby put his thumb in his mouth. He opened the door carefully and slipped out. The snow was falling thicker now. He put the socks in his pocket quickly and set off for home as quick as possible. His stomach growled, reminding him that dinner was waiting on the table at home for him.

He tripped only once outside of the apothecary shop, where Mrs. Everdeen and her two daughters lived. But he quickly regained his balance and romped home. When he pushed the door open and shut it hard behind him, he heard his dad say "I was beginning to wonder where you were."

Harry nodded, out of breath, and said: "The snow is crazy out there."

James nodded. "What were you doing anyway?" Harry turned his gaze to his dad and reached into his pockets and pulled out the two pairs of white socks. "For Neville and Luna." He said. His dad whistled. "What did those cost you?" "Bunch of turkey feathers," Harry replied. He pulled off the boots and placed them by the door. He put the socks inside Neville and Luna's boots and wiped his forehead.

"Hate to tell you, but I really need to go to sleep." He muttered. James nodded. "Neville and Luna are already asleep. I was waiting on you." Harry nodded, then said, "Well, goodnight."

His dad stared for a second, then shook his head. You're working too hard son." But he turned and went into the only other room the house held. A bedroom meant for one that currently held three. Harry rubbed his eyes and turned to the lumpy, flee-ridden couch where he'd slept for the past 3 years.

He fell onto the couch, completely forgetting about the stew he'd left in the kitchen, and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**School finally ended so I'm finally back. For those of you who don't know, I updated the last chapter to my liking. It's not too different, but I added a few more details.**

Despite his complete and utter exhaustion, Harry still woke up the next morning in time to trudge through the snow with Neville and Luna to school. He found a handful of dried roots in the back of the cupboard and let Neville and Luna snack on these on the way to school. In their lunches, he put two particularly thick pieces of the tesserae bread spread with a bit of honey he had made two years ago. He had gotten a solid three large bottles worth of honey, and they still had one that they used every once in a while.

The school was an adobe-brick building just off of the main square of District 12. It was nicer than anything in Harry's neighborhood, being so close to the Mayor's house. Concrete base, floorboards, and carpets. Paintings of Panem's presidents and past mayors, and the two victors 12 had ever had. One was so long ago no one remembers their name. The other was the Victor of the 60th Hunger Games named Rubeus Hagrid.

Bright red banners and posters were strewn about the school, proudly proclaiming this as a place where one could sign up for tesserae. Harry read a poster showing a fair-haired girl holding dozens of cans and bottles. The caption read "I'll have plenty to eat thanks to my Tesserae!"

Harry gave Neville and Luna a pat on their backs. Luna glanced sideways at the posters and gave Harry a one-armed hug around his middle. Then she hoisted her one-strapped backpack (the other one had long since broken off) and vanished into the crowd of students. Harry was only able to track her pretty blonde hair for about five feet before she melted away entirely. Luna, unfortunately, was good at melting away.

Neville stared at Harry for several long seconds. He held out his fist and when Harry knocked his knuckles against his, Neville whispered "Good luck Harry." Harry smiled and then watched as Neville turned to the crowd. Harry tracked his brother's head to the doors of the school and watched as the doors opened and his brother disappeared.

The bell rang not long after, and Harry stood in the courtyard watching the young'uns rush to their classes. He felt eyes on his neck, judging by his size and strength. Other people, teens, and older children no longer in elementary stood waiting for the children to disappear into the school entirely so they could sign up for tesserae without little eyes watching with fated expressions. A group of girls standing nearby was giggling, and he shifted uncomfortably. With a quick glance over his shoulder, his suspicions were confirmed. Five or six young ladies were staring at him, eyeing the flow of his shoulder muscles into his arms. He winced and wished the shirt wasn't so tight on him. He turned and ignored the way they whispered, how they leaned forward trying to flash their cleavage and let their prying eyes roam wherever they liked.

The last few children disappeared inside, a few tardy students rushing with red faces and pink slips to class. In the following silence following the children's disappearance into school, Harry moved toward the doors. He slipped inside the glass outlook between the first and second set of doors. Two portraits, one of the mayor and one of Rubeus Hagrid hung on either wall. Above each portrait were the words. "Work hard and you could become like us one day!" Simple, and supposedly motivational. Of course, Rubeus wasn't really an example. The man was barely educated and spent most of his days and nights nursing a bottle. He had gotten where he was because he had managed to kill more people than anyone else. No other reason.

Tesserae signups were held in the cafeteria. They'd go on until it was time for the students to eat and then they'd be closed for about two hours. After the children left at the end of the day, they'd open again and stay that way until the school closed at 10:00. The cycle would repeat itself over for a week, and then tesserae signups would be shut down at the school so the children could learn without the threat of the Hunger Games hanging over them. Once the week was over, parents and students who had neglected to sign up would have to venture to places further in town. Any child who failed to sign up at all, as everyone knew, would automatically be entered in twice as many times as they were supposed to be entered.

Harry shivered.

He was the fifth person in line when he signed up. Some teens had decided to venture in with all their siblings on hand for emotional support. He watched a 15-year-old from the marketplace put her name down for the minimum number of entries and submit it. A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned on instinct and saw Lavender Brown staring him down with wide, open doe eyes. He tried to turn away, but it was too late and he was cornered.

"Hey there Harry." She said in a honeyed tone. Her hand still rested on his shoulder and moved slowly up and down his arm.

"Hello, Lavender." Harry murmured. He tried shrugging her off, but she simply dropped her hand and looped it through his arm.

"What are you doing Harry?" She asked as she yanked a little on his arm. He could smell her armpits and saw a smudge of colored earth on her lips he supposed she was trying to pass off as a lip colorant. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, only just standing here in a tesserae line for absolutely no reason. In fact, all of us are just standing here. Cause, y'know, we couldn't all be signing up for tesserae. That's just ridiculous." Lavender laughed a high-pitched laugh that made Harry wince. His ears rang for a few seconds.

"Oh, that's funny Harry. Just hilarious." She wiped at her eyes. "Just absolutely impeccable."

Harry swallowed. "What a big word Lavender."

She flashed a smile with something stuck in her teeth. "Oh, wasn't it though, I'm so full of big words, in fact, I scored an extra .75 points on my school exam for good words and intellect." Harry wondered what that meant. "I'm actually very smart. I've scored high in math's and languages since I started schooling and I've always been very intellectual and – "

"That's nice Lavender," Harry said quickly. He managed to yank his arm out of Lavender's grasp and inched forward in line. The 15-year-old girls' sister's friend was finishing up. There were two people in front of him.

Lavender leaned against him and draped her blonde hair over his shoulder. He shrugged her off and she stumbled for a moment at the sudden shift of weight. Then she took his arm again and practically threw herself on him. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Of course, even with my outstanding academic achievements, I'm not terribly busy. In fact, I have tons of time. I'm free practically every single day. Just, maybe whenever you're not busy we could – "

"No thank you, Lavender." Harry sighed. Another person moved out of line ahead of them. Harry shook the arm Lavender was hanging onto.

"But – But – But we'd make such a good pair! You and I, me and you! We could make it work!" She squawked.

"Erm… I'm not entirely convinced Lavender, but thank you for the offer." Harry finally managed to pull his arm out from Lavender's ever-tightening grip and shook it out to get the blood flowing again. Before he could latch on again, he grabbed her shoulders and held her out at arm's length. She blinked in surprise, and the 12-year-old who had been in front of him moved forward.

His fingers moved quickly across the screen, confirming his identity and then the boxes allowing for tesserae application showed up. He checked the box required for him, and then the extra boxes for Neville, Luna, and his father. He clicked submit and the number briefly flashed up on the screen. Thirty-five times his name was in the reapings. Lavender gasped over his shoulder and he turned to see her staring at the flashing number with wide eyes. He scowled at the obvious invasion of privacy and tapped the screen to send the number into oblivion. Lavender cleared her face of shock and tried to link his arm with hers.

"Mind waiting for me, Harry?" She blinked her eyes at him. "We could take a stroll through town afterward." Harry grimaced.

"No thank you, Lavender. I have things I need to do." He said. Lavender pouted for a few seconds, then someone tapped her on the shoulder and told her to hurry. She turned to the screen with a sigh and Harry took the opportunity to leave. The cafeteria was becoming increasingly filled with passerby's and applicants and he didn't want to be there anymore.

He ended up leaving the school by a back-route due to the overcrowding of the doors by teens waiting to apply. The abundance of winter coats and shoes creating an unintended hot, slippery skating rink that he didn't feel like dealing with. When he opened to door to the fire escape, a branch above the door he'd unknowingly disturbed dumped a load of snow on the back of his neck. He shook off the cold feeling as water dripped down his spine and yanked his collar up. A fat lot of good it did, since there was a hole where collar and jacket met. He slipped out into the winter wonderland and forged his own trail to the front of the school, where he discovered a wonderful thing happening. Despite last night's flash snow storm, the world looked like it was in the final stages of winter.

Most of the snow had melted off the branches and all the people coming and going had stomped the snow down into thin covers for the grass. Water came off of the buildings with a guttural system in a thin, steady stream. Everything was melting, the world was returning to normal. In the distance, he heard a bird call.

A small miracle. A welcome sight. A call back to the woods for him.

* * *

Harry ducked under a high part of the electrified fence and pushed through the woods. Up in the trees were snares for birds, raccoons, and other critters which may dwell in trees. These looked fairly recent, however. Harry guessed Ron had beaten him to the woods this year.

Further into the Glen and past a rock they called "The Tarry Point" as a lame sort of landmark for finding their way back, Harry found the red head bent over a complicated snare Harry knew would take more than the rest of his life for him to understand.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said. Ron jumped at the sound. Despite the fact they'd been doing this for years, he still freaked out a little inside every time he heard a sound. He feared the peacekeepers, even if they were the ones who usually bought most of the good stuff. Harry had gotten over it over time, but the instinct was engraved on Ron.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. He looked back down at the snare. "Mind holding the end of this rope for me real quick? Harry nodded and bent down to press the fringe of the rope to the muddy sleet. "Looks like you finally beat me to the woods," Harry said by way of conversation. Ron huffed in annoyance, both at the rope and the provoked memory.

"It is not –" He said "- my fault you decided to leave home in the dead of winter and get yourself half frozen just so you could 'beat me'."

Harry winced and wished he hadn't said anything. "Well, they were starving Ron…"

"Then you should have come to me and we would have helped you, shouldn't you have?" Ron sent Harry a patronizing look. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Ron muttered. "Just… if you need help, come to me first." Harry nodded numbly. They sat in the melting silence as Ron finished the snare and then stood. Harry noticed the brown cloth bag slung over his shoulder.

"Gotten anything?"

"Haven't checked anything yet. Just barely noticed this trap was sprung. I was setting up new ones before that." He held up a small raccoon. Harry nodded.

"I saw the traps you were setting up."

Ron nodded amicably. They journeyed back past "The Tarry Point" and continued on down a couple of deer paths. In the hollow of a hickory tree wrapped in thick leather was the three bows and sheath of arrows that Harry had taught himself to make. Harry pulled an arrow out of his sheath and looked around as he placed it on the string.

"Where should we start?" He asked. Ron snorted.

"In case you haven't noticed yet mate, we're still coming out of winter. You're not gonna find much."

Harry shrugged. It wouldn't hurt to try. Just for the false hope that they might be able to find something. Ron shrugged a little and they both let out a few laughs in the absence of anything to say. Without any spoken agreement, they started off down a side path. Like Ron had predicted, there wasn't much, but they didn't let it bother them. All the same, they decided to sit down after a little bit for lack of anything to hunt. The cold was beginning to made Harry's joints ache and feel stiff.

Ron tapped his gloved fingers against his knees as he thought. "When are they coming for the reaping? The selection?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Three weeks. The school's doing it this week."

Ron nodded, that was old news to him. Maybe Ginny had signed up at the school? This was her second-to-last year signing up. The thought of the redhead brought a bit of warmth back into him, but he brushed it off. Ron turned around with a renewed fervency.

"You've already signed up then?"

Harry nodded.

"How many times is your name in?"

Harry pulled off a glove and ran his thumb over the stitching in it. He then replaced it and said: "Thirty-five." He didn't need to ask Ron. Last year had been his best friend's last.

"God." The redhead let out a breath. "Bloody Hell." Harry raised an eyebrow and threw a smirk at his best friend. The unfamiliar slang came from a far-away land that didn't exist anymore. They had found it in a textbook from the school. Harry wished it was summer and there was dry wood he could carve and/or mess with.

Ron let out a sigh. "That's bloody awful."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not too worried."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, of course, you aren't." He was silent for a second. "Why do we bother to stay here." He picked up a pile of snow and let in fall back on the ground. "We could take our wits and our weapons and run. We could make a life for ourselves somewhere else. Be our own people, live our own lives."

"We are living."

"No, we're surviving. There's a difference."

"Slim difference."

"I'm serious Harry. What if there was a way we could make it so no one in District 12 went hungry anymore? You and I wouldn't have to break the law and risk our necks with wild animals and peacekeepers –"

"Is there a difference between the two?"

"and Neville and Luna could actually have the chance to make a life for themselves."

Ooh, that hurt. Harry stayed silent and brushed over the surface of the snow with a few fingers. Ron shook his head a little. The indirect reference that Harry wasn't doing enough for the two kids stung, but Ron wasn't going to take it back any more than Harry was going to refute its truthfulness. The two teens just sat in the snow and waited for whatever came next.


	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games**

 **When I wrote this chapter out I just couldn't keep it in the third person. I kept reverting back to first and finally decided that the first person carried the scene much better. I'm not sure I'll keep it this way though. Let me know if you find any spots where I messed up the Pov, and also your thoughts on the switch itself.**

For what must have been the hundredth time, I pushed myself up off the couch in fright. Images of the nightmares I'd just escaped kept flashing before my eyes. I took a few deep breaths, then relaxed my hands enough to unravel my fingers from the holey sheets.

When I put my head in my hands, I could see it all again. I'd been sitting in the living room with a sick feeling in my stomach, watching someone get murdered on the screen when I realized that person on the screen was Neville, and the murderer was Ron. My best friend's hair was streaked with dirt and grime, and when the camera zoomed in, I didn't recognize the look in my friend's eyes. My little brother, poor Neville, was completely clean and perfect, no sign of death at all except the lack of color in his cheeks.

In the crowded walls of our home, I was alone except for Ginny and the bloody body of Luna. Ginny was sitting on one side, while poor Luna looked as if she'd been torn open by wolves. Ginny's smile was wider than should have been possible and her eyes were not blinking. A moist red ring went around her mouth.

She pounced and pushed me backward into the TV. The world shifted and I found myself in the woods. The Tarry Point was just a few yards away. My father was convulsing on the ground, a spear in his chest. James's eyes were wide, unfocused, and completely colorless. The sight had shocked me awake.

Now, my head was throbbing. I left the room and peeked into the bedroom for a quick panic check of the house to make sure everyone was alive. In the bedroom, James had Neville and Luna curled up with him. They must have crawled in when they, too, had had nightmares. The peaceful sight calmed my nerves.

The month had flown by, and today was the day of the reapings. No one into work, no one to school. I wished Ron was up now, so I could talk with my friend, but it looked like I was going to be fighting my nerves in the dark of the morning, all alone, and on an empty stomach.

In the kitchen, I heated up a small bit of water and added some things we'd gotten from the woods after the last of the snow had finally melted. I turned the TV, the only piece of electronic anything in the house, on to distract myself.

Rudolf Hess, the infamous announcer, and host of the Hunger Games was talking with Tom Riddle, one of the Gamemakers. Riddle wore a smile as he talked about opening details for the Hunger Games. One by one, everyone wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, woken by the murmurings from the TV and the tremors of electricity.

Breakfast was quiet. There wasn't much other way to describe it. Just quiet. Neville wore a white shirt we had kept hidden in between two holey blankets to keep clean. Dad once said it had been his. I put a braid in Luna's blonde hair. I knew how from making ropes.

At noon, the town gathered in the square. We found Ron in the bakery, spectating from the shop. It was filled with other people, but James and Luna squeezed through into the backrooms, where it was less crowded, but they could still see the courtyard. I took Neville's hand and led him into the courtyard.

Peacekeepers and cameras were everywhere. Harry led Neville to stand with the other twelve-year-old boy's and left to stand with the eighteens. The glass reaping bowls were brought out. We stood for what felt like ages, I took a breath and dug my nails into my hands until a lady with red hair and orangish skin stepped onto the platform. Bellatrix Lestrange, her name did her justice.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome and good morning to all. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor." The words roll off her tongue like she's been saying them for five years, which she has. "Now, before we begin, we have a very special video brought to you all the way from the Capitol." She says with cheer in her tone.

The movie is the same one we have seen every year for all our lives. About how the districts rebelled, and the Capitol won. That's how the Hunger Games were created. For us, it's just a kick to our pride about the mistakes our ancestors made, but Bellatrix is in tears by the end of it.

"I just love that." She says, wiping her eyes. "Now, the time has come to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first." She flashes a blinding smile. Her teeth have been stained to match her hair. Bright red. She looks like Ginny from my dream.

She strides over to the bowl, her heels clicking on the rough wood. She reaches down and pulls a piece of parchment out. My stomach turns as the girls all shiver. She reads it and calls out "Lavender Brown."

I watch with hollow eyes as she stares around in shock for a few seconds, then moves to the aisle. Peacekeepers surround her and escort her up to the stage. Bellatrix stays only to seize Lavender by the shoulders and plant a kiss on both her cheeks, leaving bright red lipstick stains behind. She then strides to the boy's bowl and takes a slip of paper as Lavender stands beside the Mayor and Rubeus Hagrid, who is half-conscious and fully drunk.

Bellatrix fumbles with the paper for a few seconds then tears it a little in frustration, finally, she pries the edges open, and a tremor moves through the boys. She clears her throat and then speaks, very clearly into the microphone.

"Neville Fleamont Potter!" She says. The accent is strong, and she fumbles with the middle name. I breathe a sigh of relief and then realize the name. My mind fades into a state of panic as the crowd parts a little. A boy with dark hair breaks away from the crowd with trembling shoulders. The white shirt is stained with sweat and dust.

I immediately start to push my way through the crowd. Boys stare in shock as I fight my way to the center, raise my arm up high, and screams "I volunteer!" Peacekeepers that were previously surrounding Neville turn and stare at me confusedly. The system is rusty; there hasn't been a volunteer in years. I raise my voice and my arm a little higher. "I volunteer as Tribute!"

Neville doesn't say a word, only stares open-mouthed as I walk forward. When we get close enough I launch a hand out and plant it on his shoulder.

"Run."

"Harry – "

"Run."

"Harry, I'm sorry!"

"Go. Go get Dad. Don't look back. I'll be fine, now go!"

Neville's eyes are brimming with tears. "I put my name in extra." He whispers. I stare my younger brother down. Neville looks away. "I'm sorry, Harry." He says. A peacekeeper nudges me forward, and I release his arm.

"Go," I say.

I don't see him again. Peacekeepers surround me, march me up to the stage. Thousands of eyes are alight on me, but I don't meet any. When they nudge me up on stage, I take a quick glance at Bellatrix's face. She looks delighted. She pulls me up to the center.

"What's your name dearie?" She asks in a high pitch. I flinch at the tone and then whisper: "Harry Potter." Bellatrix blinks. "Middle name?" She asks. "James," I reply.

Bellatrix announces my name and then plants her hands on my shoulders and swoops up to kiss both my cheeks. She gets one, but I pull out and away from the other. She looks at me like I insulted her family line or something, then appears to forgive me in a heartbeat. Lavender, the mayor, and Rubeus all move up to stand with us. Bellatrix takes one of my hands and one of Lavender's and lifts them up into the air. No one moves to clap, no one even takes a breath. We stand there for several long, awkward seconds, and then Bellatrix releases our hands and scowls lightly at the crowd. I don't know what she expected. No one in twelve has ever clapped that I can remember.

A screen reflects back at us what people in the capitol and other districts are seeing. Next to Bellatrix, in her blinding clothes and endless masks of makeup, we look plain and dirty. The lipstick stains our cheeks red, like someone scratched us. Lavender has one kiss mark under her eye, and it makes her look like she's bleeding from it. I scowl and scrub at my cheek vigorously. The mark blends, but doesn't go away. My hand comes away red.

I think that's when everything went numb for a while. There were colors and lights and questions, most of which were from Bellatrix. Several people with sunken eyes stare at me, and I recognize a few as people who come in the evenings to ask for food. I look away. The mayor hands me a handkerchief and I scrub at my cheek to remove the last of the red. Lavender starts bawling, and then somehow, we manage to get off the stage in one piece. Rubeus trips going down and lands flat on his face. He picks himself up though and wanders off in the direction of the train.

They put me in a room in the justice building, where the mayor works when he's not working from home. I sit, tapping my fingers and waiting, and the feeling gradually bleeds back into my body.

Ron is the first to come see me. For a few moments, we sit and stare at each other. Then I say: "Please, don't let them starve." Ron nods. "Of course. You know I won't." He smirks, but it's with a haunted look. "Give them hell, and come home soon."

Ron nods and smiles a little. He holds out something, a pastry. From the looks of it, a tart. "Mom calls them treacle tarts." He mumbles. I smile at the gift. We talk for a few more minutes, pass back ideas and plans, but when peacekeepers open the door to haul Ron out, he's already standing there, waiting. He saunters out all on his own, and the last I see of him is a backward glance and a salute.

Luna comes in before Neville, and sits down and leans on me for a few minutes while she cries. She doesn't say much, she never has. I try to murmur promises to her. How I'll be back within a few weeks, and she'll never have to be hungry again. We'll live in one of the Capitol built houses on the hill, and eat real food. She'll have hobbies, and she'll have her own purpose.

If I have to become a murderer for her to feel comfortable with herself, I will.

Neville's face is streaked with tears, his cheeks so red it looks like Bellatrix has taken whatever obnoxious color she uses on her lips and streaked it all over his face.

He stands in the doorway for a few moments as it closes, sniffling. Once the door clicks shut, I open my arms. Neville doesn't hesitate as he rockets over and buries his face in my nice shirt. I wrap my arms around him as he sobs.

"I-I took out the tesserae when you told me no, and I'm sorry but I just wanted to help and – "

I shush him before I quietly whisper: "It's not your fault. It's not your fault." Gradually, Neville's sobs fade, though he shakes every few seconds. Finally, he looks up with a tear-stained face and whispers softly: "You have to win Harry. I'll never forgive myself if you don't."

I go down to eye-level on my knees and then say in the sturdiest voice I have: "I will." It sounds more powerful than anything I've ever said before, and he blinks in the ferocity of my tone.

The door clicks open, and I look up to see two peacekeepers storm the room. They seize his shoulders roughly, and I glare.

"Hey!" I bark. "Be gentle with him!" The two roll their eyes and haul him out, his toes brushing the ground, silent tears leaking off his cheeks.

My father is the last person they allow to see me before the train leaves. We're on a time crunch, and need to be delivered into the outstretched claws of the Capitol. We don't say a single word, except goodbye. I think he knows I've already hammered out the details of their survival with Ron, and he'll just have to accept that fact and be filled in later. He cares for me, my father, but doesn't know how to work with my independent attitude and outstanding rebellious streak.

When he leaves, the peacekeepers drag me out with him. They keep firm hand on my shoulders and march me out through the crowds to the train. They shove me on without comment, and when the door closes, I know it closes for good.


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games**

 **I'd like to thank pawsrule for their comment. It was short, but I gained some insight from it. 1st person is working? Great, I'll keep it up unless it stops working or someone else shares some insight. I didn't realize I'd been stretching it out so much! You're right, it's time to introduce Hermione into the story. I've put it off long enough.**

 **The information Harry looks up in the story comes from Fandom- powered by Wikia. You can look it up if you want.**

 **I'm learning a few words – you never really leave elementary school vocab tests behind. Intrinsically is another word for naturally, essentially. Jaundiced is when you're looking kinda yellow and sick. Denouement is the resolution of a mystery.**

The train is ridiculously posh and luxurious. It grates on my nerves the way Bellatrix struts around in heels and rearranging her jewelry pieces. She offers me some food, and I almost accept before she starts racking off everything that is available here. Cheeses and loaves of bread and fruit that are completely unfamiliar to me. My rebellious streak takes over and I reject anything from her then. Lavender picks off a few light pastries while I make a show of rolling my eyes at Bellatrix and making careful notes of my surroundings.

There's a large hallway which connects us directly to another car. Bellatrix watches me with hawk eyes as I slide along the shadows to the door, but then Lavender asks about a cream-filled pastry and her eyes dart away long enough for me to slip through the doorway and into the hall.

There's a door with an escape latch on the side. Painted red and black and with a long, heavy looking handle on it. I'd consider jumping off, except only God knows how fast this train is going. I continue into the next car, and discover two doors on either side of a narrow hallway. I open one and find a blindingly pink room. Everything is decked out in some lavish shade of pink or white. I shut the door with a head shake and then turn the knob to the one across the room.

It's not half as loud as the pink room. Darker, in shades of brown and green. Still incredibly lavish, but with the lights off you can't tell very much. When I step in, the lights come on at blinding levels, but there's a control pad of sorts next to the door, and I set it to levels so low you can barely see where things are. The wall stays alight a little, but it gives little effect.

On the wall is a TV, hanging surrounded by framed photos of the Capitol. I find a remote on a bedside table and hit the power button. It takes some time, but I figure out how to maneuver it to the news channel I was watching this morning. Rudolf Hess is talking with someone. I can't tell if it is a man or a woman. In the top corner of the screen, the recaps from the other Districts' reapings. It looks like I tuned in just in time. Rudolf announces the recaps are playing, and the corner screen enlarges. Rudolf and his partner are now in the top left, and the recaps take most of the screen.

The District 1 reapings are done from stained glass bowls, with jewels covering every square inch and everything screaming luxury. There, two names are drawn and two volunteers replace them separately. The same as every other year. The first of the Careers.

Careers are typically the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. By tradition, they team up every year with whoever else they deem worthy, and kill everyone off. The most bloodthirsty and violent of them all. They've been trained for years to represent their districts.

This year, there is a hard-faced girl named Hannah Abbott, and Draco Malfoy from District 1. Hannah is short but lean. She wears her hair combed and cut blunt, showing off the hard angles of her face. Draco slicks his hair back and wears a glare. They give off the impression of someone hardened by comfort, who has been taught uncaring coldness and unforgiving stares. Not like those hardened by hunger and hardship, who understand true alliances and real friendships.

You could count the differences between District 2 and District 1 on one hand. There is a light and agile girl named Cho Chang, and a boy called Cedric Diggory. Cho could be Hannah with dark hair and tan skin. Cedric could be Malfoy a few shades darker. District 2 isn't Luxury, like District 1, but they're stone mining and look just as strong, if not stronger than District 1. They are volunteers, just as planned and look satisfied with their partners.

The Screen changes and the picture quality becomes sharper. District 3, Technology and Electronic Goods has nothing but the best cameras. Every detail is captured. From the crook of the Mayor's mouth to the eyes of all the people who stand behind him. This district, though well off, has more dignity. They understand the Capitol has never had their best interests at heart, and as long as deliveries are on time, no one cares.

In the beginning stages of the reapings, I see a girl, tapping her foot expectantly, waiting for the names to be drawn so she can volunteer. A male across the aisle from her looks just as excited. Bloodthirsty, eager to earn their way into the careers. The district escort crosses the stage and draws from the girl's bowl with extreme drama. She pops the seal of the paper and then calls the name across the stage.

"Her-mee-ow-nee Granger?" The written name appears at the bottom of the screen. Hermione

The name means nothing. Just another person in this bloodbath, but then the screen pans over the crowd, looking for the girl called. I see the one across from the boy I noticed earlier. He looks at her strangely, but she laughs and waves her hand. She does not raise her hand to be called for tribute. She changed her mind, for the sole purpose of leaving this Hermione Granger to the wolves. The camera jumps to a new scene. In the back of the crowd, a girl breaks away from the crowd.

She is different from the rest of them. Different in the way she holds herself, different in the way she looks. Her hair is swept up a little, and she wears a white dress. She looks pale with fright. She has pretty hair and nice eyes. The District 3 cameras pick everything up perfectly, from the gentle shadows that frame her face, to the light that bounces back from her eyes when she looks around in fright.

Hermione Granger.

The door to what I've effectively claimed as my room swings open, to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange and Lavender, who is holding a small plate of cream puffs. Ron has made them before. He tried to teach me, but I was the literal definition of rubbish. Lavender slides across the room and drops herself on the couch next to me. I shrug her off and return my attention to the screen.

Bellatrix makes herself known. "I see you've made yourself at home."

Lavender tugs on his shirt a little. "Want to share a cream puff, Harry?" He shakes his head as he watches Hermione walk toward the stage. It's a long and unbearable walk, he realizes. Hermione keeps looking over her shoulder, back at the girl who was going to volunteer. Said girl stays silent, and smirks.

It truly is amazing how much these cameras pick up.

Lavender snorts. "Quite plain, isn't she? Look at her dress. She's not exactly beautiful, right Harry?" Harry rolls his eyes and shifts further away from her. In his opinion, she is beautiful, just in the way she acts.

Hermione finally reaches the stage. She's petrified. The escort grabs her arm and pulls her up to the microphone, similar to how Bellatrix pulled Lavender and me up. We hear her over District 3's superior sound system ask Hermione: "How do you say your name?"

I can't hear her answer. The escort covered her microphone. But then the lady straightens up and says into the microphone: "Her-my-own-ee Granger."

The crowd claps politely. The escort lady pulls a name from the boy's bucket and the excited-looking male volunteers. He sneers at Hermione when he gets up to the stage, and places himself far enough away to make it painfully clear she is alone in her troubles. The crowd roars for him. They all know him.

The Districts bleed into one another. Smothered by Bellatrix's twittering and Lavender's pestering, I don't bother to pay attention after a while. The hours fade and vanish. The twilight fades into night and darkness falls outside. Eventually, it is Bellatrix, not me, who hauls Lavender out by her hair (not exactly literally) to put her to bed. I send her a sharp look when she turns to scold me and make sure I'm going to sleep. She withers, and leaves. I lock the door behind her.

The recaps end with Neville being called. The picture is fuzzy, but I can make out my movements in the corner of the screen before the camera focuses on me. I've already volunteered, I'm making my way down the aisle to Neville, but my words were too quiet to be heard and the picture to fuzzy to be seen. Rudolf Hess fills everyone in on what happened. I hear the words "First tribute from District 12 in years, and then drown out the rest. The picture changes to the side-by-side photos of the District 1 tributes so that Hess and his partner can talk about them.

I find a white shirt and some drawstring pajama pants in a drawer. They're made of thick material that slips through my fingers when I rub it. Rudolf Hess starts talking about District 2 as I readjust the light settings and get dressed. I almost turn off the TV and turn in for the night, but my finger lingers on the power button before sliding to the volume button. I let the volume soar to 30 or so and sit down as District 3 starts airing. They start with Hermione, not her district partner.

"Herm-I-Own-Ee Granger." They enunciate. "District 3. Strange how there weren't any female volunteers this year, but we're glad we get to see more of her. Aged 16. We've done our normal background check and it looks like both her parents were dentists. They've gone on to the next life, poor souls. Been gone for about two years next August. On to her partner…"

I hit the power button, and toss the remote onto the couch. It hits the leather with a thump, and there I let it lie.

I open the small bathroom window before I go to sleep. We're going so fast I can feel the wind rush and hear the sound even when I close the separating door, but it helps me to fall asleep that night.

* * *

My room chills overnight. Nothing too bad, but definitely a temperature change. The air coming through the window feels different now. More moist, and not so dry. I'm the last person into breakfast, which hasn't happened in years. Lavender is scribbling on a piece of paper and Bellatrix is twittering on about something. A large, overweight man has passed out in a chair, a glass bottle of brandy in his hand and his shoe half under the chair itself. An awful odor is coming from him, and I have to resist the urge to gag. I nitpick off of all of the food set up.

Lavender twitters over at me: "Don't eat too much. Bella said that kids from the seam usually get sick off all the rich stuff here."

I affix her with a hard glare, but she's already turned away and back to her scribbles. For all of Lavender's supposed academic achievements, she doesn't have very good handwriting. I roll my eyes, which is quickly becoming a natural reaction if it wasn't before, and then walk over the where the drunk man is sitting. I choose a chair a few feet away, not so far that I can't smell him, but enough to keep Lavender from coming over and smothering me. I turn the TV on again, and find it on the channel I was watching last night. They're replaying the recaps again, but they're onto talking about each tribute now. They've just finished up District 7. Astoria Greengrass and Seamus Finnigan. Astoria is well-built, especially around the shoulders, but Seamus looks like a string bean. Next to Astoria, he appears minuscule and weak.

There's a type of breakfast meat on my plate that I discovered I really love. I go back for seconds and fill my plate with it. Lavender watches me distastefully but doesn't say anything or move. When I get back they're onto District 10. They move faster through the later districts. No one really expects 10, 11, or 12 to win anymore. I watch with half-lidded eyes.

"Fenrir Greyback, a ferocious name for a ferocious-looking child," Rudolf says. The picture of a bulky 18-year-old appears. He has unusually sharp canines in the photo, messy hair that makes him seem edgy. "Fenrir seems to be a fierce-headed boy, and we're expecting lots from a boy his size." The photo moves and Lavender appears. It looks like her family submitted a school or a family photo because she's all dolled up in it. She's wearing red leggings, pink cardigan, pink boots, and a pink beanie. Her hair is curled and draped artistically over her shoulders. She stares evenly into the camera and holds a fist under her chin.

"Trying to act like a big girl in pink." I think.

"Lavender Margaret Brown, from District 12." Rudolf's voice draws my attention. A district beauty, for sure, and we've been told she's exceptionally smart. We'll have to see if those brains are enough to tackle the strength and brawl of the arena, now will we?"

I chance a glance back at Lavender. She's watching the screen and looking like she's biting back bile. Not nearly half as confident as she was in the photo. Dressed in simple gray, her cheeks look pale. I look away.

"Harry James Potter," Rudolf announces. I look up as Lavender's picture fades to show mine. I wince at the photo they decided to send in. It's almost a year old, and shows me in the kitchen, staring out the window. I'd been watching Neville and Luna outside. The photo is in surprisingly good focus. You can see a stubble on my chin, and how my shirt is too small, too tight. I hear a coo behind me and know Lavender definitely isn't complaining. "This young man certainly surprised us when he volunteered for his younger brother at the reapings. We did a check, and this is the first District 12 volunteer since the 22nd Annual Hunger Games. That's 52 years, folks. When we asked his family if they could tell us anything about him, his little brother told the reporters that "Harry is going to win."

I feel a smirk edge its way onto my face. Neville and his confidence gives me a little strength. Then I hear a sniff behind me, and a bright yellow sleeve comes into view. Bellatrix is hanging onto my shoulders, sniffling.

"Oh, oh it was so sweet… when you volunteered for your brother… saving him from almost certain death." She says. I yank on her arms.

"I wouldn't have needed to-" I scoff. "If your Capitol would quit sending children to their deaths." I pry Bella's arms off of me in her shock at my words. She stumbles back and falls on her behind as she looks up in shock.

"But- but it's an annual event honoring the war."

I scoff. "Yeah, keep telling yourselves that. But isn't murdering the children of each new generation for something no one can even remember an awfully odd way of preventing it from happening?"

"You- you can't just say these things about the Capitol!"

"So, you're forbidding me from speaking now?" I challenge. "Sentence me to death and forbid me to speak?"

She stares up in absolute shock. Lavender is staring at me like I've grown a third foot or something. There's silence for a few seconds. Then someone chuckles. I turn to the side and see a bleary-eyed Rubeus push himself into an upright position. The smell of alcohol and fart emits from him. He leans forward a minute, just observing.

"Well, di' I ac'ually get a fighter tis year?" He chuckles. "Problem is, you only got a 'half o' the brains." He sticks his thumb out to Lavender. "She got the rest. If'n you can take a few hints, you have the strongest chance."

Lavender looks affronted. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"You got te brains, te street knowledge. You have that there look that things ain't always been easy, and I heard 'bout you around town. Word is, you know what sur'ival means." Then he sticks out his thumb to Lavender. "Bu' she knows about pre-sent-a-tion. Making te people wan' you ter win. 'Ere's te thing Potter, you wan' ter win, you gotta have te strength, te knowledge. Bu' te entire thing is a television show, and you also hafta have the charisma. Make 'em wan' you. Make 'em wan' you to win."

Lavender picks herself up off the chair, leaving a bunch of cream puffs and such behind. "Erm, any advice for me?" She asks sweetly. Rubeus looked up at her and studied her. Studied the shape of her jaw and the strength of her arms. He shook his head a little. "If you can gain an extra 30 pounds, learn how to defend yourself and how to survive on nothing within the next week, you might have a chance."

Lavender scowled. "A chance?"

Rubeus grimaced sympathetically. "Maybe hal' a chance." Lavender scowled. "So, you're saying I'm doomed?"

Rubeus shrugged and winced a little. "Weell… it's too early to tell… but you certainly don't got as much a chance as 'arry 'ere." Lavender scowled again. I looked away wordlessly, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. Bellatrix, having picked herself up off the ground, rubbed her backside as she fumed. I picked up my plate and started weaving my way through the four people. I stole more of the fatty meat I liked and then stole away to the hallway as Lavender started arguing with Rubeus. I only got the beginnings of her argument before I walked out of earshot, but it sounded like she was trying to argue she had as much a chance as me.

I didn't want to refute her, but when images of Draco Malfoy, Fenrir Greyback, and Cho Chang came to mind, it was hard to imagine a petite thing like Lavender making it. Even if she managed to outlast most, the Gamemakers always brought the final tributes together for a bloody fight to the death, one way or another. It was highly unlikely that Lavender, with her thin arms and frail legs, used to lounging around and sitting at desks would be able to face off any of them.

She wouldn't be the only small, unprepared girl in there though. Unbidden, the thought of poor, terrified Hermione Granger floated to the forefront of my thoughts. In my mind, I could see the skirt of her dress swishing back and forth as she walked a million miles to the stage in utter silence.

I push the door open to my room and observe it in the dark for a few seconds. Finally, I turn to the light panel and up the light levels. In the light, I notice several things I didn't in the dark. First, the room has gold accents, which makes me like it less. Second, it's a lot larger than I originally thought. Third, there are several gadgets around the room. A phone, the TV, and a computer. Under the computer, a long white cord lies forgotten on the ground. One end is hooked into the back of the computer. It's long enough to go across the entirety of my room.

I study the cord for a second, it looks a lot like some of the connecting cables we have at home, especially in our school buildings. I look up at the TV and my eyes zero in on a port on the side. I unwrap the cord and unravel it enough to bring it over to the TV. I plug it in, and the screen lights up. A notification appears. "Television Feed Disconnected" It reads. "Computer Connection Now Active."

The words fade and I see a single blinking box labeled: Password. Glancing back at the Computer, I see the same screen. I grab the keyboard and the mouse and leave to sit on the couch. I tap my foot against the ground and then enter "District12" as my first attempt. A red exclamation point alerts me to my failure. I tap my foot again and then try "D1str1ct12".

A green checkmark appears and I'm left to chuckle at the simple password. A browser is automatically opened, and I search for District 12. A simple definition appears. "One of the outer districts, this is nonetheless a crucial one. These brave and hardy workers descend deep into the earth each day to mine the coal that keeps our nation running." Other facts include "population of abt. 8,000", "Total of four Hunger Games Victors", and "Tesserae claims number abt. 862,568 each year."

Recent news for our Districts has Lavender and me's name splattered across the headlines like they've already ripped us up despite the fact the games haven't yet begun. There's an article I spot about Lavender alone. It's titled not only with her name but with the pink picture of her. I don't go looking for an article solely about me.

I drum my fingers on the keyboard and then search "74th Hunger Games Tributes." It doesn't take long to find a list with pictures. Draco Malfoy is first, with his hair slicked straight back, then Hannah Abbott with curly locks and a wide smile. Cho Chang, looking deadly, and Cedric Diggory, looking charming.

Hermione has a photo of her sitting in what looks a lot like a library, or maybe a church of some sort. She's sitting under a large window, and beams of light are falling softly on her brown locks. She has her legs splayed out carelessly as she reads from a large tome. I scroll past the district partner and read through District 4.

The male from District 4 is an obese boy who sports two extra chins and wears clothes made for giants. He has confidence though, I can give him credit for that. But he doesn't look like he has any other defense other than sitting on people. After he is a paper-thin girl named Ariana Dumbledore, who has stringy reddish-blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes.

I kinda glaze over the article. There's a toad-like woman from District 9 named Delores Umbridge. Delores is dressed in pinks and reds similar to Lavender, but her wide hips and the look she gives the camera make it cringe-worthy rather than the district beauty everyone praises Lavender for being.

I scroll back up and rest on the picture of Hermione. Her description is next to her, the same thing they keep saying on TV about how her parents are dead, how she's 16, and how there weren't any volunteers.

In the photo, she's wearing blue jeans and a tan cardigan. Her hair looks bushy, wild, and she has it tied back in a poufy ponytail. I let slip a smile as I stare at the photo. It's a pretty, peaceful photo, and she's a pretty girl. I click a few buttons, and the photo enlarges to fill the screen. I see the faint grace of a smile on her lips, and it makes me smile too. A very pretty girl indeed….

 **Hey! Please review for me! I need a few pointers to make sure the story flows smooth… is anything confusing so far?**


	6. Chapter 6

**We had a bit of an internet problem here, so I wasn't able to upload the previous chapter and wasn't able to do a few ( a lot) of things. Since my schedule got forcibly cleared up for me, I decided to write this. No clue when it'll actually go up, but…**

 **The story mentioned here is called The Monkey's Paw by W. W. Jacobs. I read it in 6** **th** **grade and remembered it as I was typing this up.**

 **Look for all the Harry Potter Original Timeline References I throw in here!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games.**

We pull into the Capitol during the early afternoon. Thousands of people await our arrival, in all sorts of lavish shades in all colors of the rainbow. A little girl with wires poking out of her eyebrows waves as the train passes. Lavender waves shyly at the crowd, and they cheer. They love her already.

I stand at the door half watching Lavender with the crowd outside, and half watching the TV screen perspective as we pull in. Seeing the train from the cameras is different from seeing the interior. Rudolf Hess isn't speaking, but every person has to sleep at some point I suppose. Instead, it's another man with a lighter voice. I see the camera pan around on the dozens of screaming people and the long, sleek train. It holds on Lavender's face, smiling serenely in the window.

The train shudders as it comes to a final stop. Lavender grips the windowsill to keep from sliding and people outside shriek to ask her if she's okay. She waves off their concerns and blows a kiss to the crowd before she hops down and disappears from their eyes.

She sidles up to me like some trainer about to throw a leg over a horse and takes my arm. I slip out of her grasp and fold my arms to prevent her from taking them.

"Oh Harry, honestly, we'll look more presentable this way, like a _real_ _team_."

"Lavender, I barely know you and you always taking my arm is honestly annoying." I sigh.

"Well, of course you know me. I talk to you every single time I see you, and I was two grades below you back before you graduated." She protests.

"Lavender, all you ever did was talk. You never actually cared. All I am is a figurehead to you." I gesture out to the crowd. "So we can look like a _real_ _team_."

She glares out toward the screaming people.

"Can't you indulge me then? It'd help you out anyway. I'm the District Beauty Queen, remember? What would it do for your ratings?"

I glare at her and she shrinks back a few inches. "I'll have you know that I can take better care of myself than you ever could. You're not the only person who has points. Haven't you heard the news? You may be the District 12 Diva, but I'm the first 12 Volunteer. I sacrificed myself for my brother. People admire that courage more than they admire beauty."

Lavender scoffs. "No, they don't. The world admires beauty. It always has. It doesn't make which character traits you have because people will always put the prettiest, most self-centered people above those with the ugliest faces and purest hearts."

"Talking about yourself, are you?"

My, if looks could kill I'd have been obliterated on the spot. She turned pointedly and glared across the room. Bellatrix glared at me from the corner of the room, her beady eyes turning into slits from the strain she was putting on them. Rubeus, however, hid a smirk under a hand and looked at me with drunken approval. Lavender and I had succeeded in splitting our escort and our mentor apart, pitting them against each other for us. Bellatrix had apparently taken quite the liking to Lavender, and Rubeus liked my spitfire. I didn't particularly care for either, but at least Hagrid was useful.

Bellatrix ushered a steaming Lavender and me to the door. We stood shoulder-length apart, facing slightly away from each other. The door popped open with a hiss and Lavender's face took on a whole new light. She walked forward to stand in the doorway as lights and sound flooded into the train. She smiled brightly and waved at people as she descended the train. I stepped forward. A clear path had been made between all the screaming people and steps assembled from the train. I looked out over the crowd and stared at all the people. They screamed and called my name. A few were crying. Everyone wanted something from me, and I wasn't sure what.

I watched Lavender move through the crowd. She shook hands and smiled. Waved at small children and blew kisses to men in the crowd. The perfect playgirl.

And I, Harry Potter, had no clue what I was supposed to do.

I raised an arm and smiled shyly, before reaching behind my head to scratch my neck. The crowd cheered a little, but I couldn't figure out what I could do. I wasn't Lavender. I wasn't even myself here, with all these people. I turned back into the car and saw Hagrid and Bellatrix watching me, waiting for me to go on ahead. Hagrid shook off some of his drunken stupor, and then balled his fists and flexed his arms in a 'tough guy persona'. I stared for a second, then turned back to the crowd. I took a deep breath, held it in for two seconds, then marched forward.

It was almost like walking through the hob at home, except for the colors. I felt like the protector, the provider whose role I always played. I pulled my shoulder back into the upright position they always rested in and leveled my gaze at the crowd. They cheered louder, screaming.

I reached the building the path led up to before Lavender did. It was the Tribute's center, where we would call home/hell for the next week before the games. Lavender stayed behind, talking to a young man and two girls. Hagrid and Bellatrix had left the train. They were lingering behind Lavender. Bellatrix was waving to people she knew like an overexcited eight-year-old. I could hear her cackling from where I stood. Hagrid lifted his bloodshot eyes to meet mine, and I let a small smile show my gratitude for him helping me.

I stepped into the elevator and Bella started ushering Lavender forward. They slid onto the clear glass with Lavender and Bella still waving at the crowd, and then the doors snapped shut.

I glanced sideways at Hagrid. "Reckon anyone's ever lost a finger in that?"

Hagrid raised an eyebrow. "Probably worth a search. Reckon?"

I shrugged. "It's part of some old slang my friend Ron and I found. There's also bloody hell, blimey, and they called each other mate."

Hagrid shrugged his shoulders a little, mimicking me perfectly. The man wasn't half-bad sober, I decided. Bellatrix was fussing over Lavender. She drew her fingers over Lavender's cheekbones and Lavender closed her eyes and nodded.

Hagrid rolled his eyes, and I chuckled.

I didn't even realize we were moving upwards until I glanced back out at the crowd and realized they were complete yards below us. The elevator moved evenly upwards without a single jolt. As we rose up, I could see the road that stretched out to my right, due east. Tomorrow night we would be paraded up it as part of the preparation for the games. We'd be coasted up the road and dropped off in front of the City-Stage. We'd be at the City Stage again on Sunday, the day before the games began. On Sunday, they would interview us for all of the crowds.

This entire area, the Tribute's center, the Parade Road, and the City Stage among other places such as the Mayor's Mansion and the Panem Mall made up the area of the city called Hogwarts. Apparently, it's a flower. There's also a minor part of the city called Chrysanthemum; we learned about it in Grade School.

The elevator levels off at the District 12 floor, and the doors fall away like a steady stream of water someone suddenly took a knife and cut through. They reveal an elaborate view: A large, open concept living/dining area. The room was heavily over-themed with red and gold. Plush carpets in said colors the gleamed and caught the sunlight. Maroon cushions set upon yellowed upholstery. Even the paintings carried a bit of the colors with them; they depicted trees in fall, from places where they still turned crimson and aureate. Unlike in District 12, where the leaves went from vibrant green to faded brown within a span of days.

Bellatrix struts in towards the dining room with attached kitchen area. She sways from side to side like a drunk person, teetering on her heels. In fact, she nearly crashes into a crowd of people as they appear in the doorway. A dark-skinned man catches her by her elbows before she tumbles back to the floor. He props her back up on her feet and glances down at her shoes. "You ought not to be wearing those, Bella." He says. Another woman, equally dark-skinned beside him nods. She wears dark clothes and has bright, bright blue eyes. So bright and vibrant a blue they can't possibly be her natural color. She must wear enhancers or have had work done.

The group spreads out. Besides the two dark-skinned people, there are six or seven other people who look as if they've been selected from the crowd outside. Vibrant colors, eyelashes that are several inches long with bobbles hanging on the ends. Ridiculous amounts of hairspray to hold their long locks in funny shapes.

I do a quick count, there are ten people in all; four lavishly dressed people to one dark-skinned person. The man holds out his hand.

"Abrahm." He says quietly. His female counterpart also reaches forth a hand. "Amelia." She tells me.

They rattle off the names of their four helpers each, but my eyes glaze over and I stop paying attention. Lavender listens exceptionally carefully to Abrahm, and I notice him eyeing her with taste. Bile turns in my stomach. Amelia also watches him distastefully, and I have a feeling that Lavender and I have, once again, managed to split the crew working on us in two. That also goes for the prep teams. The four under Amelia's direction all watch Lavender appreciatively as if imagining how their lavish fashions would look on this beautiful small-town District 12 girl. The four under Abrahm's direction, however, eyes my hair and the small traces of stubble on my chin like a challenge. I nervously try to flatten it.

Lavender looks over to Amelia, then back to Abrahm. "Are you two… together? Best friends maybe?"

Amelia shakes her head. "He's my brother." She supplies. Abrahm only nods his affirmation. He appears to be an overall quiet sort of guy. Lavender nods in satisfaction. Bellatrix hobbles her way into the mess of people. "Well, Harry, Lavender, these are your prep teams. They'll divvy you up how they best see fit, and then we'll scrub, polish, and wax you down for tonight's show." I wince. Lavender looks interested.

"So, waxing, are you serious about that? Like, to get all the hair off my legs?" She pulls up her sundress a little to show Abrahm and the prep team. "So, I can be hairless the entire time I'm in the games?" She appears excited at the prospect. Amelia stares.

"Depends on how long you live." She says. Lavender's eyes snap back to Amelia, and she flushes and glares as she lets her dress fall back into place. I resist the urge to scoff. Hagrid literally facepalms behind her, then meanders into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of alcohol. Abrahm doesn't say anything, only watches Lavender with curiosity.

Amelia is the first to take charge. She doesn't have a lot of grace but understands limits, including those of emotional, practical, and time. She quickly assigns Abrahm to Lavender and herself to me. Then, seeing the looks of the prep teams quickly splits them up too. She takes all of Abrahm's and Abrahm takes all of hers. The prep teams don't seem to entirely agree with this but understand it's a fair balance of their interests. Lavender want's Abrahm, Abrahm wants Lav, and Abrahm's team wants me. Vice versa for Amelia. Personally, I'm happy. Hopefully, I won't have to talk to the prep team much.

I soon learn my hope is realized but at a terrible cost. I don't have to talk to the prep team, but they won't shut up.

Back a little bit before Ron and I looked up the book with all the funny slang in it, we had a class assignment on old fables and the like. We briefly covered an old horror story called The Monkey's Paw. It comes from the same place the slang comes from, and it's where we got the idea. Basically, there's a charmed monkey paw that will grant you three different wishes, but each wish comes at a terrible cost for meddling with fate. This guy uses his first wish on money, but nothing happens. His son leaves for work at a factory, and later they hear their son was brutally mauled by a malfunctioning machine. The factory reimburses them for the same amount he wished for. Ten days later after the body has been buried (Which by the way pretty much looked like someone had fed it through a sausage grinder) the wife convinces the man to bring their son back to life. The cost? He comes back as a zombie, in the same decomposing state he was in. As the wife is unlocking the door, the man realizes what is happening. He uses his third wish to wish his son away. The cost of the final wish is that the couple now has to learn to live without their only child.

I'm beginning to understand the theory behind the story as Amelia leaves to work on final costume details with Abrahm and the prep team forces me down an adjoining hallway and into a room where sits a cooling tub of what looks and smells like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

They forced me out of the comfortable clothes I had chosen on the train, bit by bit, and then practically shoved me into the grey water. There wasn't anything solid in the tub like I'd been expecting, but the feeling was strange. Whatever was in the water made my hair stand up on end, and made my skin prickle. It was also cold, which didn't help matters at all. A pink girl dressed in fluorescent, transcendent pink set a timer for five minutes as the other three chatted to each other and me and massaged the liquid into my skin. When the timer dinged, they all scrambled to get me out, practically yanking me out of the tub. It wasn't long before I discovered why. Standing in front of the mirror while they all patted me down, I realized what they had done. They had _bleached_ me.

I was completely pale, white as a sheet! They nodded to themselves and gave each other congratulations on a simple task well done. A person whom I couldn't tell was a boy or a girl saw my look and told me: "Don't worry, we're only evening your skin tones and taking away your sun kisses."

I looked down. The few freckles I did have had vanished. They looked immensely proud of themselves.

The tub drained itself at a push of a button, and now was filling up with a sludge the khaki color of a bogey. I felt sick as I was patted dry of the bleach and forced back into the tub of sledge. This time, however, it was hot and burned my skin. The prep team would not let me get out though, and so I endured the burning for several minutes until the tub chilled a little. They set the timer for much longer than the bleaching had taken, and I listened to the mind-numbing chatter without much care as they massaged the sludge into my arms. But when the timer went off, they yanked me out just as quickly. The sludge stuck to my body in a similar fashion to mud. The prep team let it dry for several minutes while I stood there awkwardly, and then simply seized the part where the sludge started and peeled it off without any harm to me.

They tossed the makeshift Harry molds into a corner and let me have a look at myself in the mirror. My normal skin tones had been reinstated, much to my relief. The man/woman smiled and said: "You didn't think we'd keep you an albino, now did you?"

I was forced into several more tubs, including a dark, murky brown one, a unique smelling one with an interesting 'mother-of-sheen' steam rising up from it, and a pure gold looking liquid. None of these had nearly as much effect as the first two, however, and I didn't honestly know what they were for.

They spend a good half hour fussing over my hair, which is longer than anyone's ever fussed over me in my life. They don't get it to stick down despite using half a bottle of gel, and I finally stop them before I begin looking like Draco Malfoy. Instead, they style it appropriately so that even if they can't stick it down, they can make the rest of my hair flow with it. They attack my eyebrows with tweezers and are debating between dying the hair on my chest, arms, and legs all a lavish shade or shaving it off entirely when I make my second input.

"Just leave it. It'll give me a roguish look. Besides, I wouldn't look like me without it." It seems to sedate them.

They leave around seven at night. I get done before Lavender and happily join Bellatrix, Hagrid, Amelia, Abrahm, and my prep team at the table while we wait. There's none of the meat I like, but a vegetable dish with lots of seasonings and butter helps me get over my loss. There are other meats as well, including seafood that comes from District 4. I've never had any before, so I take a lot. A few things, like the octopus, I'll never like. The shellfish is pretty good though. I wonder if I could send any of this back to District 1 for Neville, Luna, Dad, and Ron.

It hits me then, that I haven't thought of them in a while. In fact, I've thought more about the girl from District 3, Hermione Granger, than my own brother! The reason I'm here! The thought jolts me, and I feel so guilty I have to stop eating for a while and silently hope that they're not starving right now.

Lavender walks out about 15 minutes after me, hairless and perfectly tanned. She, like me, wears a white coverup that will soon be replaced in favor of whatever get up Abrahm and Amelia have dreamed up. She picks off of rolls, and a light lamb stew that has been placed in the center of the table. When she sits down by me, she leans over and whispers: "Did they bleach you too?"

I nod. "Was the tub burning when you got back in though?"

She nods too, wincing. "Yeah. The first one was like ice though."

I nod again, and she falls silent, feasting on her stew.

Amelia gets up a few minutes later and gestures me to follow. We walk back into my bedroom, and she opens the closet and pulls out a bag garment bag. Wordlessly, I take it from her and open it up.

I have never been so impressed by a piece of clothing.

The item resembles robes, but it has metallic embellishments that set it apart from anything I've ever seen before. The material is synthetic but comfortable. She takes it by the hangar, holds it up, and says "Fiendfyre." The suit suddenly lights on fire. I jump back, thinking clearly there must have been some sort of awful malfunction, but Amelia strokes the costume and is not burned. She shows her hand to me, and then I touch the dazzling flames too. It feels like I've dunked my hand into a bucket of cold water, but it doesn't burn me.

As I admire the flames, Amelia turns on the TV. It shows the scores of people already gathering to witness the tributes. She leaves without a word. I look back to the flames.

"Erm… stop." Nothing.

"Out?" The flames flicker on.

"Nox," I say, trying my hand at Latin. The flames flicker and die.

I set the suit carefully down on my bed and then open the window. My room window doesn't face the street, but I can see the glimmer of the city lights as the sun sets. Everyone is awaiting our arrival. I put my elbows on the window sill to think, and my mind flees the building, escaping several hundred miles back home to District 12, safe in the crumbling walls of my home, with only the sound of Neville and Luna to fill me.

The crowd is drowned out.

 **Please Review!**

 **Did anyone catch all my references? If you didn't recognize AMORTENTIA, POLYJUICE POTION(Variants) and FELIX FELICIS, you may want to go back and see if you can find them.**

 **Also mentioned: Aunt Petunia dying Dudley's old clothes, and Katniss's favorite food among others.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Would anyone like to hear the blunder I had when first writing this chapter? I couldn't remember whether Harry had glasses or not. In the end, I decided to go with not because I was afraid glasses would get in the way during the games.**

 **I feel a growing need to acknowledge reviews. I really am grateful to the people who review.**

 **Booksandlove1=I don't speak Spanish, so I had to translate yours, but it made me smile and laugh. Thank you so much! (P.S. I DO Speak German! ^-^)**

 **Eh= If at any time you want me to beta read or anything, I'd be happy to help! I started out the same way actually… _ Another thing that may help is to record yourself reading your story aloud. If you stumble over the words at all while reading, you know to fix them. After that, play your recording back and see if your plot sounds reasonable and believable.**

 **Pawsrule= You truly are an angel. Thank you for reviewing every chapter without fail! I truly appreciate it!**

 **Anonymous (Guest) = I run everything through Grammarly and reread everything, but if there are any grammatical errors I take full accountability. Would you mind pointing out a few so I can go back and fix them? Thanks for all your tips!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games.**

Please read the end of story comments because I need some tips.

The Opening Ceremony is where they introduce the tributes from each District and give a bit of background history. We're paraded up the street while people scream and take photos. It's one of the three chances to earn sponsors before the games begin. In an arena, where certain supplies may be few, a sponsor gift may save your life.

The sky grows darker and the noise from the crowds enters via the window and reverberates off the walls. I pull out the black robe-like outfit and looks at my reflection in the mirror. I look a great deal cleaner, but can still find a bit of myself in the lines of my face, the taunt angles hunger and age has given me.

Someone knocks on the door as I watch the last few blades of sunlight cut across the land, across the far distance where the horizon lays. There are no mountains, nothing to stop the fading light. Only the endless expanse of rolling hills and the ever-stretching city.

"Come in," I say quietly. They obviously don't hear me, because the knocking continues in full fervor, with all the energy that can only mean one person is behind it. I sigh, and one thought runs through my head as I force the tingle out of my legs and make them move, one at a time.

What did I do to deserve being in the Hunger Games with Lavender Brown, of all people?

It wasn't that she was a bad person, or that they had a long-standing grudge or anything, but rather the complete opposite. Many a person would consider Lavender a gem. A beautiful, upstanding girl who was smart and energetic. She had an aura of innocence about her and only seemed to understand all that was good in the world. That was precisely the problem. How was he supposed to kill her, or even allow her to be killed in the arena? His only hope was that they would go in two completely different directions and she would be miraculously put to death a good two miles away so he wouldn't have to return to District 12 having overseen or orchestrated her death. It wasn't like it'd be much of a fight. Lavender wasn't a killer, wasn't fast, and while she was school smart, that wouldn't help her here. Knowing proverbs from prepositions may save you from a teacher's glare but from a spearhead? Not a chance.

He unlatched the door and Lavender nearly fell forward, as she'd been leaning on it while knocking. Not a smart move in retrospect; clearly she'd been expecting him to holler at her to come in. As it was, she stumbled forward a few steps then looked up to meet his eyes. Harry blinked. Lavender was dressed in a floaty black dress that looked like it was made to be worn by her but in much lighter colors. Black didn't do her pale skin justice, and to top it all off her face had been done up by bold eyeliner and mascara caked on so thick he could measure it in inches. Abrahm also apparently had the thing about gold. Her face was covered with the stuff! It looked like when Luna was a child and the school had given her a bottle of glitter glue. She'd covered a single sheet of paper with the entire bottle and it had taken two and a half days to dry and had ended up being an inch thick.

"We've got to get going." Lavender chirped. She clasped her hands at her sides, digging her nails into her palms. "Everyone's waiting on you! Bella's having a minor freak-out!" She turns on her heel and floats down the hall. I take a second and lower the lights before following her.

When I enter the room, I am blinded. Bella has a flash camera and seems intent on taking a good thousand photos of Lavender before she leaves. I try and slip away unnoticed, but suddenly I'm standing beside her and they're photographing me too. Hagrid is wrestling with Bellatrix for the camera, but she's holding it out of reach as she snaps photo after photo after photo. He finally manages to grab it out of her hands as she leans in for a better shot and then tucks it into his coat, which appears to be made entirely of pockets.

Before she can get it back, I feel Amelia pressing her nails gently into mine and Lavender's backs, urging us to the elevator. I gladly comply and step onto the glass. Lavender and our Stylists follow, but Hagrid and Bellatrix are still squabbling over the camera. She hasn't even noticed we've left.

Amelia and I both lean on one side of the glass as we drop closer to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Lavender shoot a few cryptic glances at Abrahm, while he stares openly back at her. Sheesh, has he no respect?

A woman greets us at the bottom. She never tells us her name, only ushers us through a small tunnel into a courtyard where twelve chariots await us. Lavender was right, we are running late. Almost all the other Districts have already arrived, except District 7 and the male from 9. The chariots are decorated according to the Districts' specialization, and they haven't changed in all the years I've been alive. District 1 is shrouded in large gems, District two is made to look like the outside of a rocky mountain, and then there's a chariot in green and black, looking like a computer chip. Up inside it is a boy with reddish brown hair and olive skin undertones. He looked to be trying his hardest to ignore the girl who was stroking the horses in front of her chariot.

Tawny sin melting out from under a white dress and hair braided and draped over her shoulder, I almost didn't recognize her until she glanced up at the boy in the chariot and sighed irritably. Her golden eyes gave away her identity as Hermione Granger, District 3 tribute. She's holding out something in her hands- sugar cubes for the horses. She strokes the horse's face gently, and then her white dress shifts and changes colors to melt through this extravaganza of pink, green, blue, red, and purple. It animates sparkles falling down her bodice and then abruptly stops at white again.

I want to watch a minute longer, but Amelia presses her hand into my back again, and I move along down the line. The last thing I see of Hermione Granger is a braid wrapping itself around her head to be tucked elegantly into a ponytail. How do girls do that with their hair?

Amelia is watching me with a smile I don't like, so I raise an eyebrow and ask: "Did you see what she was doing? I couldn't get a good look."

"Probably because you were so busy picking yourself up off the ground." She responds. I shake my head.

"Naw, her dress just came on and surprised me. What was she doing?"

"Feeding the horses," Amelia responds. She points to a bag of sugar cubes on the ground. Looking around, each of the horses has a bag. "They love sugar. You can suck on one too if you want." I shake my head but she shrugs.

"Suit yourself." She says as she swoops down to steal a sugar cube and then pops it into her mouth. She strolls off to talk with the other stylists for a minute. For a minute, I wonder where Abrahm is, but then I turn around and see him and Lavender standing with a maximum of two inches between them. He's got a hand on her face and is talking softly. Probably 'retouching her makeup'.

In an attempt to get out of an awkward situation, I grab five or six sugar cubes and head back down the line. I run into District 7 as they come in, but the boy from 9 is still missing. I get to the District 3 chariot just in time to see her district mate storm off. He's scratching furiously at his shirt, and when I get around the corner to see Hermione I see her brushing sugar crumbs out of her hands. Her dress is all lit up again, but it looks like it's in the final stages before it returns to white. She looks up to see me and her eyes meet mine curiously before she looks back to the horse.

I feel the need to compliment her, but I don't want to seem the kind of guy who only notices a girl's beauty. I bite my lip and think furiously, but then she says: "Are you just going to stand there?"

The sound rushes over me, and I nearly gasp. It's such a clean sound when she speaks. She doesn't slur the words, and there's a bit of an accent to them. Then I remember I'm supposed to be answering her.

"No, sorry. I was just trying to think of a way to say that's a beautiful dress you have on."

She glances up, an eyebrow arched up artistically over her pupils. "You couldn't come right out and say it?"

"I didn't want to seem shallow for only noticing the dress. That is, I mean - I wanted to compliment you on something else other than beauty."

She doesn't meet my eyes, only keeps her attention centered on the horse. She holds out another sugar cube for it, and it crunches it straight from her hand. When she next speaks, I feel her words bite into me.

"Yeah, I'm not much gifted in the beauty department, am I?"

For a moment, I think she might be joking, but no. She's completely serious.

"How could you say that?" I ask. "I mean, look at you! You're stunning." She gives me a long look, then looks off to the side like she's talking with someone insane. "What I meant was –" I start, then hesitate. "-There are so many different qualities about people. So much more than just beauty. Just because you're beautiful doesn't mean that's all you are. I wanted to find something about _you_ to compliment, but I ran out of time."

She considers my answer as she examines my face. I'm standing maybe two feet in front of her, leaning slightly now onto the carriage. "Well, thank you I suppose. Is there anything else you need?"

"Yes," I say, the syllable stumbling out of my mouth before I can stop it. I hold out my hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter." I see a spark of recognition before she puts her palm in mine and shakes it firmly. "Ah, so you're District 12's volunteer?" I nod and her eyes search mine. Then she murmurs: "That was a brave thing you did for your brother. One of the bravest things I've ever seen."

I shrug. "I just did what anyone else would do in a situation like that." Hermione's eyes bore into my soul. "Not everyone." She replies.

The images of the District 3 reaping leap to my mind, unbidden. Hermione walking up an endless runway as a girl refuses to take her place. Hermione gives the horse another sugar cube then shakes out the empty bag. Crumbs float down, and I ask: "Did you put sugar down your District mate's shirt?" She laughs a little, a sweet sound, and then nods. "Yeah, he deserved it. I hope it lasts throughout the entire ceremony so he can squirm instead of going on about how great he is."

"Wish I could do that to my District mate." The words slip out of my mouth. She snorts, then covers her mouth as she snickers. "Is – Is she as one-layered as she is on T.V.?" I nod with a grin and Hermione grabs her stomach as she starts laughing. "That's so ridiculous!"

"Did you see the picture of her on the screen? Of her in all the pink?" I ask cheekily. She starts laughing harder.

"You should see her now," I say. "She's got this entire face of gold, and her eyelashes are made of mascara. And she won't keep her hands off the stylist, so together they just look full out ridiculous!"

Hermione shakes her head, her cheeks tinted a bright red as she reclaims her right to oxygen. "She seemed so… superficial on the T.V. I couldn't believe she was a real person."

I shake my head. "I've known her all her life and I still can't believe it. It's like she's one of those overly happy characters in little children's books brought to life." Hermione and I shake our heads together. "Unbelievable." She says.

A man swings up on the chariot behind her, her District mate.

"C'mon Granger, we gotta go." He says gruffly. She rolls her eyes, which he doesn't catch since he's getting an eyeful of a glare from me. "Who're you?" He asks stupidly.

"Harry Potter," I respond crisply. Hermione dusts her hands off and sighs. "I guess I need to go." She says. She moves back me, and I almost offer her my hand to help her up into the chariot, but then she swings up herself without any problem. A girl who clearly doesn't need my help, I think.

"Goodbye Harry." She says as I start to move back. I smile. "See you around Hermione."

I toss the sugar cubes into a random pouch on my way back. Tributes are starting to pile in, and capital hands are ushering the first horses to the doors.

"Where have you been?!" Is the first thing Amelia shrieks when she sees me. She ushers me up into the carriage. Lavender is already up there, but she's facing the other way and talking to Abrahm.

"I turned away for one second and you'd vanished!" Amelia told me. "Now stand up straight and – and." She looks at me strangely for a second, as if seeing me for the first time. Then she leans up and pushes my chin up higher. "Fiendfyre." She says, and the flames start licking my arms, causing no harm. She smiles softly. "Do try and smile Harry." She says quietly. I give her a soft grin, and she smiles proudly up at me. She deserves it. I can't imagine how many months she must have put into designing the outfit I'll be seen in by the entire Capitol.

I turn to see Abrahm's hand linger on Lavender's, and then I feel the carriage start to move.

It takes a few minutes for the other tributes to realize we're literally on fire. A few people scream a little, but most people stare in amazement as the hems of Lavender's dress burn and my cuffs graze my skin but never hurt it. Lavender has never looked more out of place in the dark colors and ferocious tastes. The fire casts strange shadows over her face and makes her look fake. She does not have the personality or the guarded confidence to pull off flames. She looks like a five-year-old trying to be a soldier, and her costume has about the same effect.

Me? Well, I don't know. I'll just have to wait.

The giant doors enclosing the courtyard from the shrieking crowds outside open, and I see the flash of rubies as District 1 pulls out. Draco Malfoy looks almost as out of place as Lavender, his face is done up in shades of red and blue. He has confidence, I'll give him points for that. District 2 moves forward, and the entire line shifts forward with them. The only glimpse I get of District 3 is a wide view of Hermione's district partner flexing his biceps and the soft shift of colors as Hermione's dress goes through it's routine. Four, then Five roll out to clarion screams and applause. The screams get distinctly softer as each District rolls out. The Capitol, though they give each district equal air-time, has already picked its favorites. Usually District 12 receives the least amount of cheers, but I have a feeling that rank will be rewarded to District 11 this year.

Sure enough, District 11 rolls out in simple peach colored robes, and then we make our fiery appearance. For a minute, I think my estimate on cheers is off, because noise levels drop as soon as we leave the doors. Then thunderous screams start echoing, and my ears can't take the pressure. Lavender grapples with my hand, but I don't notice until she hisses in my ear: "Why is your hand sticky?" I glance down and yank my hand out of her grasp.

"Sugar." I respond, and inch away from her. Lavender rolls her eyes, and turns to wave at the crowd. Her cheerful, childish image is ruined by the dark image Abrahm tried to make work. I can only wonder if I have a similar effect before I catch a glimpse of myself in a TV screen that hangs above the crowd. Lavender, looking like she should be a doll rather than a soldier, and me. Minor makeup to show off my face, bold colors and the scary set of my jaw. I can't recognize the me I would be at home, but I can recognize the me when I'm blocking out the world. People scream their approval.

The ride isn't long, only about five minutes, and then we have to endure an ages long speech by the President. Lavender blows kisses to the crowd, and people start throwing roses as we near the end. At first, I pay them no attention, but then Lavender grabs one and holds it to her nose, and I have a fleeting image of Hermione's delicate hands clutching a stem to her nose, and I reach out to grab one as they come. I grab three, in all, and hold them clutched in my palms as the parade ends and I pull up along the other tributes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hermione watch us pull up with the softest smile imaginable on her face.

President Petunia Evans, a curly-haired, horse-faced woman walks to the stand as our carriage stalls, and stops. Lavender's arms are full of roses, held tightly in her arms. She must have twenty or thirty. As she shifts her arms a little, she winces and pulls her forearm back.

"Bad luck." She says as she watches a pinprick of blood form.

"Spare thorn." I say quietly. She smiles, and then reaches up to touch my face. I move back, and cast her a dark look. She sighs, then rolls her eyes back to the crowd.

Petunia Evans starts her speech with: "Citizens of the Capitol, and of Panem. We are gathered here today, in the beautiful city sector of Hogwarts to welcome the beginning of a New Hunger Games. The very best of evenings to you! These events help us to commemorate the rebellion of the Districts against the Capitol, and to remind us why this cannot happen again. It is a time for celebration, rebirth, and renewal."

Petunia's speech is long and full of much of the same stuff that has been said in previous years. Capitol citizens hang onto every word, and some even mouth the words as she speaks them. Such has been repeated over the years. She speaks with fervor, and then drops to reverence, and then suddenly is screaming her words out, forcing the citizens to accept them. I get used to her constant shift of tone, from biting and screaming to soft and soothing. But when she drops silent at the end of her speech, I immediately perk up. As the crowds begin to leave, the tributes are allowed out of the carriages. I jump out without help, but then forget Lavender as she holds her hand out and asks for help. Abrahm and Amelia, who have caught up with us, help her out.

I hand a rose to Amelia and tell her: "Your costume was amazing. Thank you so much." Before I vanish into the crowd. District 1, 2, and 4 have gathered around the District 3 carriage. Poor Hermione looks utterly bored and miserable standing on the outskirts of their conversation. I slip up alongside the horse and tap her shoulder. She turns and smiles a little when she sees me.

"Harry." She says. Her voice takes my breath away. "What are you doing?"

I shrug offhandedly, then hold out the rose. "Noticed you didn't get one of these, and I thought you deserved one." I say smoothly. She smiles a little and wraps her hand around it, and I shudder when our fingertips brush. She clutches it delicately, and then inhales the scent.

"Thank you." She says, her voice as sweet as bells. I shrug again, and say: "You deserve it. You were stunning tonight."

Her eyebrow takes that little arch stance above her pupil again. "And, dare I say, you looked picturesque."

"Beauteous." I say. I can play her word game. Both her eyebrows flit up, and she looks pleased.

"Resplendent."

"Exquisite."

"Attractive." I blush slightly at the complement as she says it.

"Splendiferous." I tell her, annunciating every syllable.

"Pulchritudinous." She crosses her arm and smirks. I search my mind, but let my chin fall in defeat. I didn't even know that word existed. She's clearly got me put out for my effort. She laughs as she watches me collapse into confusion and despair. I hold my hands up in surrender.

"You're obviously the expert here." I tell her. She tosses her head to the side offhandedly.

"I like to read." She tells me. "You pick up a lot of big words that way."

I cock my head to the side. "So, you're smart. That's something."

She blushes a little. "Not… genius smart, but… clever. Y'know?"

I nod, and then hear someone calling Hermione's name. An outrageously dressed woman is waving her over. Hermione sighs. "My escort. I've got to go." She takes another sniff of the rose, then says "Bye Harry."

"See you later Hermione."

She walks away behind the rest of the four districts. They don't pay her any mind, and my heart goes out to her. Before she goes onto the glass elevator that with transport her both back to the Tribute's Center and her rooms, we lock eyes for a few seconds. Then the glass moves and she's gone.

People bustle around the area, dismantling chariots and caring for the horses. No one notices me standing alone, leaning on my back against the outlines of computer chips and old power strips that are only used in outer Districts.

Just as no one noticed Hermione when she walked away.

What fools are humans, to fail to notice such elegance in the midst of false beauty?

 **Need pointers… Am I dragging this out too much? If so, I'll move getting into the arena up to next chapter if at all possible. What about Hermione? IS she seeming to ethereal? Is Harry too taken with her? What are your thoughts?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Dreadfully sorry this chapter cuts off at an odd angle. I wanted it posted before I had to go back to school, and my muse was burning up. Hopefully, I'll be able to get it up ASAP.**

 **Thanks to Pawsrule, and Awfulwaffel for their reviews!**

 **Awfulwaffel= Thanks for your review! I was actually going for a stronger Harry character, and I'm so glad it gives off that perspective. Your review helped me draft a bunch of Harry's lines and actions this chapter.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games.**

"Harry!"

The voice sounds in through the darkness as soon as my eyes shut. At first, I assume the voice is Lavender Brown or Bellatrix Lestrange, but then the voice calls again.

"Harry!" Too light to be Lavender or Bellatrix.

Other voices call my name, and I can't help but feel like I'm back at home, with everyone needing something from me. Light pierces my eyes, and little hands yank my shirt. When I look down I see Luna, burying her face into the hem of my shirt. Her hair has a delicate braid twisting around her head and draping over one shoulder. I lean down on her level and tilt her head up, and realize the braid is identical to the one Hermione was wearing at the chariot parade.

Someone laughs, and I glance up. Hermione is sitting on a rock, dipping her toes into a stream below. Neville is laying out a blanket, and Dad is hauling a large picnic basket over to him.

The thing that finally gives away the fact that it's a dream is Mum leaning over to pick a white lily flower. She tucks it into her long, flaming red hair, and then turns to wave at Hermione. Hermione pushes her curly hair out of her eyes and waves back.

Luna yanks on my shirt-tail again as my eyes start to tear up.

"Harry, Tell me again the flowers on Mum's grave?"

I look back up on instinct to Mom as she dances in small circles in the grass. It's all I can do to tear my eyes off her – since the only place I'll ever see her again is in my dreams and memories. Mom will never be lively and young and pretty again because we laid her to rest before I was even twelve.

Has it really been that long?

Luna pulls again. My lips subconsciously form the words. "Asphodel and wormwood." The two names are a sort of joke. Asphodel is a type of lily, and we found out from the apothecary healer Mrs. Everdeen that it means "My regrets follow you to the grave." Wormwood is another type of mourning flower that means "absence" and symbolizes bitter sorrow. It was Dad who first put the words together to form the phrase "I bitterly regret Lily's death." In memory of her, we planted them on her grave.

Someone starts laughing. Over by the stream, Neville is talking to Hermione. She's laughing and leaning forward to dip her fingertips into the stream. Luna's arms loosen, and I automatically walk forward. I seem to take me two strides before I reach her, and when she sees me she reaches up her hand. I take it, and our fingers tangle together as I sit down. Neville seems to disappear.

I sit there holding Hermione's hand as she grins softly. Something seems off, but it takes me a while to remember what.

"This isn't real." I realize. The world around me evaporates with the words, and then I start falling through space and time before I wake up clutching the sheets to my chest. An alarm is beeping somewhere, and I hear voices in the hall. I twist out of the sheets and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Now, instead of hearing Luna call for me, I hear Lavender and Bella twitter in high-pitched voices at each other. The room had been disturbed while I'd had slept, I noticed. I'd hung the black robes over the back of a chair, but now they were gone and replaced by a starch white shirt and gray jeans.

I changed quickly, refolding the pajama's I'd slept in and putting them back in a drawer before I freshened up and tried to run a comb through my hair. I appeared in the kitchen at least 10 minutes after I'd actually woken up. Everyone was already there, including my prep team, who squealed obnoxiously as they saw me.

"Harry! Oh, Harry! You looked so good last night! Just look!" They squeaked as they pointed to a large, mounted TV across the room. The parade recaps were already being aired. They flitted gently through each of the tributes, though I noticed they lingered longer on some of the more favorable Districts. Already, people were being singled out by who the Capitol predicted would win. Though I had to admit, they were probably right. After all, they had been doing this for seventy-four years.

Lavender was silent now, watching to recaps. Bellatrix was out of the room now. I wondered where she was. Hagrid too was absent. Amelia and Abrahm were whispering intensely in a corner of the room. Not trying to pick favorites, but it looked like whatever the argument was, Amelia was winning.

I picked some toast, and some more meat, and then plopped down in front of the television as they restarted the reel. Draco Malfoy appeared, smirking softly over to Hannah Abbott. They hovered over them, catching the gray steel in his eyes and the sharp lines of Hannah's face. Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory also get a few more seconds of screen time to catch the perfect textures of their hair and the dangerous aura they give off.

In District 3, the camera pans straight over Hermione in normal time but stops on her district partner for a few prolonged moments.

District 5 has a stunning blonde who has an aura of "I rule the world". Her district partner is a small, stubby, rat-like boy with considerable muscle, but you can't really tell because he's spending all his time drooling over his partner. Fleur Delacour and Peter Pettigrew. The camera holds on both of them, which is a shame because it helps me pick up the drool on the corners of Peter's mouth.

I pick up other people the camera slows on. Alecto Carrow from District 6, Viktor Krum from District 8, and Fenrir Greyback from District 11. Then there's a surprise. On District 12, the camera slows over my face, picking up my muscles and my eyes. It hovers over Lavender, but not nearly for half the time it did for me. I feel a surge of pride. The Capitol has labeled me a suitable enemy. Lavender on the other hand only has a chance of winning because she's a pretty face. Even then, in the arena, the only way she'll survive is if she turns out to have a bloody streak.

Somehow, Lavender is the kind of girl who seems more likely to throw up at the first sight of blood rather than to be the person who draws it.

Amelia and Abrahm finish their argument, but neither appears to be better off for it. Abrahm storms away and plops his lithe figure on the couch. After a second, Lavender moves from her spot by the breakfast bar and plops down beside him. I stay long enough to watch her put a hand on his thigh before I reload my plate. I disappear through the elevator and examine all the pretty buttons. I haven't had the opportunity to push one before, as the elevator is also programmed to take us where we need to be at certain times.

There's a button for districts one through twelve, and one for the training room, and then there's also one for the rooftop. I hit the rooftop, and lean back against the door to munch on my breakfast. The elevator lurches, but to my surprise doesn't go up. It starts traveling downward. I wonder what's going on, but then remember that this elevator can go sideways and down the street as well as up. We must simply be moving to a different part of the elevator system. I start eating a piece of meat, and then the doors suddenly and spontaneously open. Shouting fills the formerly soundproof elevator.

"-bringing my ratings down! No one wants to look at me with you there!"

"No one wants to look at you anyway, you twisted maniacal sardine!"

"Oh, like you'd know what beauty is! You're not exactly a Tiffany Stewart yourself!"

"Of course I'm not! We both know I'm much more than that half-witted doorknob!"

"How dare you! You ugly, smart-aleck, nitpicker!"

A brown head bursts into the elevator, pulling on a black leather jacket and moving fast. They whirl on their heel and then stab a button in the wall. The doors snap shut in the middle of another insult and someone else yelling: "Where are you going?! You have to be downstairs by nine o' thre-"

The someone whirls around to me with their hands in their hair before they spot me.

"Oh." They say flatly. "You're here."

It's Hermione Granger. Her hair is combed but flies around her head in curly waves. The only makeup she wears is a thin trace of eyeliner that starts in the center of her eyelid. She has a blue shirt, brown capris, and tennis shoes on. Training clothes, like mine. And she looks _angry._ But that doesn't last long as she looks me over and giggles.

I follow her gaze and realize I'm holding the fork with the meat stuck on in inches away from my face as I lean frozen against the elevator, a look of shock on my face. I flush and drop the fork on my plate softly.

"Good God." She says. "Why did you get so much?"

I look at my plate and shrug. "It's really good. I really love whatever this stuff is."

"Sausages." She says, her brow furrowed. "Haven't you had them before?" I shake my head.

"No, but they're really good!"

She smiles softly and then turns away and leans against the elevator with me.

"So, um," I say. "What was that all about? With the screaming and everything?"

She shrugs offhandedly. "My District Partner doesn't much care for me, especially after I shoved sugar down his shirt yesterday." I wince sympathetically.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. She shakes her head.

"Not your fault." She turns back toward me. There's a bit of lingering sadness in her eyes though, so I extend the plate and say: "Sausage?" On cue, her stomach growls, and she chuckles as she accepts the offer and slides one off my plate. I tuck the fork into my back pocket and eat with my fingers so she doesn't feel inferior. She smiles at me.

"Thank you." She says. Her voice is soft. Then she looks around. "Where are we going?" I shrug.

"Originally, I was going to the rooftop, but I got redirected to you. Now I assume we're going to the roof, but I don't know for sure."

She nods and her stomach growls again, causing her to blush. I hand the plate over and look at her quizzically.

"Did you eat at all before you stormed out?"

She shakes her head, her face growing a bit more rouge in color. "No… I- He was already pretty stoked up last night, and I didn't even let him rant so he kind of went off the moment I stepped in the room." She shrugs and picks off a sausage.

I watch her, then lean forward and deselect the rooftop icon. I hit the District 12 button instead. She raises an eyebrow.

"Figure you've got to eat and they give the Districts tons of selections. I doubt anyone will object to you taking a few platefuls."

She raises an eyebrow. "Exactly how much do you eat? And more importantly, how much do you expect me to eat?" She shakes her head. "Never mind that second question. You don't have to share your District's food." She tries to hand my plate back to me.

"No, I don't. But I will." I tell her as I push the plate back into her hands. The elevator stalls and opens at someone else's dorms. Large and bejeweled, covered in lavish colors. Draco Malfoy and Hannah Abbott step on. They wear matching tan shirts and black shorts. Their sneakers match Hermione's and mine though.

Hannah twists her face. "Eww, we have to ride with them?"

I feel my face flush. Draco seems impartial, but Hermione's face has turned stony. Hannah and Draco climb in and stand very near to the door. Draco leans back on one shoulder, his entire posture rigid and tense. He examines us up and down.

"Three." He says to Hermione. "And Twelve." He focuses on the hard lines of my shoulders and small scars I have here and there. "You've certainly put on some weight since you first appeared on TV."

"And I see you haven't changed. I'd expect nothing less from someone who's so obviously been spoiled impertinently all his life."

"Impertinently. That's a big word for someone from such a small district."

"Of course you'd find that fitting, seeing as you've got a small brain and are from such a big District.

Hermione says quietly from her corner. "Bigoted is more like it," I smirk. Draco shoots her a glare.

"Well, it'd seem you do have a tongue after all. I was beginning to think you were dumb."

"Well, keep dreaming."

"Aren't you the one who isn't part of the crowd? Always stuck in a book because your head's on some cloud?" He smirks to Hannah. "Look, I made a rhyme."

Hermione shoots back: "Pity it wasn't very clever." A surge of pride surges through me. She's smart and sharp. One-part sarcasm to a thousand-parts fire. Game on.

Hannah finally speaks up. "Alright Ladies, there'll be plenty of time for that in the arena."

"Shove off Hannah," Draco says as he nudges her a little. Harry watches her elbow slip off the solid glass wall and onto the part of the door that actually moves. She doesn't seem to notice. Draco lets his eyes flick back to me though, and we engage in a staring battle for a good few seconds before the door stops at the training center. The doors slide open suddenly, and Hannah falls back.

"Whoop!" She yelps as she loses her balance and falls out on her hip. I start laughing, and Draco chuckles as he helps her up. She favors her hip and arm. The doors shut, and neither of the District 1 tributes looks back at us. The elevator shoots upwards.

Hermione opens her mouth and says: "I have a confession. I saw when her arm slipped onto the door but didn't say anything."

I laugh. "Me too. I hoped she'd fall and get some sense knocked into her."

Hermione takes another sausage and raises an eyebrow. "You really ought not to tempt her and Draco. I bet they end up with the majority of sponsors."

"I could say the same for you. You had a go at Draco too."

Her head dips down a little bit and she plays with the hem of her shirt. I chuckle. The doors slide open, and finally – _finally,_ reveal the District 12 suite. I walk out, then put my foot in the door and wait for her.

"Harry!" Bellatrix screams from one side of the room. "Where have you been? I left for five minutes and then got told you'd grabbed breakfast and left! What were you-" She stops or at least is overpowered by Lavender attempting to rush over to me with a cream puff in her hand.

"Harry!" She says as she very nearly trips over the coffee table. "Want a cream puff?" She bullets across the room and latches onto my arm. I try and shake her off, but she's got a really good grip. Lavender holds the cream puff up to my face but then stops when she sees the other person in the elevator.

"Oh!" She says with an air of surprise. "District 3, right?"

"What?" Amelia says as she moves toward the door to see. When she spots Hermione, she gives a warm smile and says: "Hello dearie. Remind me your name?"

Hermione stares at Lavender as she answers Amelia. "Hermione Granger."

I grab Lavender's hand and attempt to pry it off of mine. "Hermione here." I struggle with a few of Lavender's fingers as she goes back to trying to fit the cream puff in my mouth while I'm speaking. "Is in a bit of a tizzy with her jackass roommate." Lavender, Bellatrix, and several of the Capitol prep team members gasp at my foul language and stare. It gives me the opportunity to wretch Lavender's hand off my arm and push her away. "So I invited her to come eat up here."

"Of course," Abrahm says from the bar. I'm surprised he was the first one to speak up. "You're welcome in here Hermione." Amelia nods.

"Come on in and we'll get you some food dearie." She says.

Hermione hands me back my plate and lets Amelia guide her over to the bar. Most of the sausages are gone, but I take my plate over to the couch and nibble on what's left of them. Lavender follows me like a lost puppy. It's been a while since she tried flirting with me if two days is a long time. Abrahm watches her from his seat though. Am I her bait so she can try and get him to bite? I shake my head absentmindedly as Hermione and Amelia sit down together on the couch, engaged in a full-out conversation. Lavender leans over my shoulder.

"Harry…" She says droning out the last syllable. "Cream puff?"

"No thank you, Lavender." I groan exasperatedly. I want to talk with Amelia and Hermione, but I'm afraid they may be talking about shoes or something, like how Lavender and Bellatrix always are. It's not that I don't mind shoes, or talking about them, but they're only so many ways you can describe a slope of the heel before it becomes a nuisance, not a style.

Anyhow, I can't even hear what they're saying. Under Lavender, everything is blotted out, and not in a good way.

Lavender tries to shove the cream cuff toward my face, and some sugar smears on my cheek. I take the cream puff and as her mouth is open with a large smile a nagging response, shove the whole thing in between her teeth. She inhales in surprise and starts to cough violently. Bits of cream cuff fly out of her mouth. Abrahm rushes to help her, along with numerous prep team members, who are now sending me dirty looks. I ignored them as I stab another sausage and pointedly turn from where Abrahm is gently rubbing Lavender's back and everyone is weeping over her.

Hermione and Amelia stopped talking while Lavender was being led away. Amelia looks at me sympathetically.

"You didn't need to do that, Harry." She mutters.

Hermione shrugs and says: "He was provoked." She takes a bit of whatever she has on her plate, then sighs. "You were right though, Harry. She's as superficial in real life as she is on television."

"Yeah, the telly's got it pretty accurate this time," I say with a shrug.

"Telly?"

"Old slang for television. From back before the Capitol ever existed."

She nods slowly, processing the information. "The telly." She says, testing the new word on her tongue. Then she giggles. "I like that."

"If'na think tha's somefink, yeh oughta 'ear 'is other arsenal o' words." The deep, gravelly voice of Hagrid says tiredly as he wanders into the room. He's sobered up pretty well, but you can smell the alcohol from where we sit.

"I'd love to," Hermione says cheerily, completely ignoring the new scent and voice in the room. She turns and puts her elbows on the knees and her head on her knuckles expectantly, leaning forward as she does.

I raise an eyebrow and then sarcastically say: "A southwest blow on ye and blister you all o'er."

"Shakespeare." She says promptly. I almost fall off my chair.

"You know Shakespeare?" I sputter near incoherently.

She raises an eyebrow. "Where do you think the name Hermione comes from?"

I'm momentarily stumped. I try to think back to the few verses I read of Shakespeare years ago, but nothing about Hermione's name comes up. I slump forward in defeat. Hermione straightens up, looking a little less than impressed, but amused.

'You're not nearly as well-read as you say." She says. Amelia sits back, holding a hand over her mouth.

"I do think," She says. "I haven't seen you so stumped before Harry."

Under my breath, I mutter: "You've known me for barely a day." And they both chuckle.

Hagrid comes over and sits next to Hermione on the couch. He has a bowl of peanuts and a brandy. Hermione, surprisingly, doesn't shrink away or even glance in the direction of Hagrid as he pops nuts into his mouth.

"Ye two got yer training today." Hagrid says. We both nod. "Try ter get ter things yeh ain't had experience with 'fore. 'Ermione, yeh may want ter look at the edible plants section. Yeh got the mind ter 'member everythin, but yeh don't got the 'formation yet."

Hermione stares. "How do you know that?" She asks.

Hagrid snorts. "Looked yeh up las' night. 'Sides, yer photo's o' yeh in the library." He looks at me then. "I dunno 'bout yeh. Yeh could be a career, or yeh could hide out an' let e'eryone else figh' it out."

I shrug. I don't know what I want to do yet. It might be easier to not have partners, I wouldn't want to get too attached to them before they're killed or I have to kill them. I glance at Hermione. She won't make it with the careers, not with Draco. Maybe I won't either, but I've got a better chance than her. I can hunt, I can fight. I've got a good build and can take care of myself. Hermione's only chance is hiding long enough to outlast everyone. She can't fight. I wonder if she can even shoot.

Probably not.

Hagrid, it turns out, has a wide berth of information. I guess it comes with the job, especially when he's been doing it as long as he has. I listen, but not nearly as much as Hermione is. I guess her District isn't as forthcoming with information as Hagrid is. Knowing he has an audience, Hagrid keeps going, filling her head with information. Amelia gets up and puts her plate away before tugging Abrahm away from where he and Lavender are sharing cream puffs. When they disappear into the elevator, Abrahm still has cream puff filling on his face. It reminds me to wipe the sugar Lavender left on my cheek off.

"They're heading off to work on your outfits for Sunday." Bellatrix tweets as she leans over the couch. Her ensemble today is black, with smoky eyes and black lips, and a shirt that drops down and shows off a good half of her breasts. If she leans too far forward, you'll probably get to see the full package.

Hermione's cheeks are bright red and she keeps her eyes firmly trained on the carpet. Hagrid chuckles and elbows her. She covers her eyes and tries to curl up. I look up with a smirk at Bellatrix.

"Hey Bella, I think you're making poor Hermione really uncomfortable here," I tell her.

Hermione buries her flaming red face in her hands. Hagrid chuckles and throws his arm around Hermione, who nearly jumps out of her skin with a yelp. I chuckle. Bellatrix looks shocked.

"Oh, you." She mutters.

"Prat?" I ask.

She's brave enough to uncover her face, though the red remains. She raises a questioning eyebrow and I respond with "Slang."

"Right, well then," Bellatrix says uncomfortably. She stands up straight and tries to wriggle her top up to cover a little more. It's just a little too fitted around her waist though, and she's not having much luck. "You two better head to the elevator. Did you get enough to eat dearie?"

Hermione nods uncomfortably. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Bella nods hastily. "Lavender!" She calls. "You have to head down now!"

Lavender appears. I sigh and look wistfully at the remaining sausage on my plate. Bella whisks it away. "Oh don't you make that face Harry, you can ask for some at any time." She passes it over to a prep team member and continues trying to wriggle up her shirt. Hermione, Lavender and I all head towards the elevator. It pops open immediately, and a female voice says: "Training room selected."

We all step in and turn back to face the room. Bellatrix is still yanking up, and Hagrid waves goodbye with a sarcastic smile. The seam holding Bellatrix's shirt together suddenly breaks and the entire top half of her outfit splits down the middle, bursting apart as the material all but completely falls apart. I burst out laughing uncontrollably. We hear part of a surprised shriek as the elevator doors shut, and each of us sees way more of Bellatrix than we need to before the elevator starts moving downward.

Poor Hermione looks scandalized – her eyes large and glassy, her hands clapped over her mouth. Lavender looks minorly disturbed. I hold my stomach to stop laughing, and Hermione says in a small voice: "Why are you laughing?"

I shake my head. "It- it just imploded. Disintegrated, practically."

She shakily removes her hands. "That poor, poor lady." The door stops and we pick up District 8. Viktor Krum strolls in, thin, dark, and with a large curved nose. He looked like some sort of overgrown bird of prey. His district partner looks like you could push her over with a feather, or very heavy breathing. Viktor moves to the side of the elevator and starts looking at Hermione and Lavender. Lavender notices and turns so Krum can get a pretty good view of her backside, but Hermione doesn't seem to realize. I don't want to say anything, because what would she think?

The elevator opens and a strong scent of wood, sweat, and metal drifts into the elevator. We're staring down a crowd of tributes, and an instructor who looks like he could eat metal and then shoot it back out his nose in the form of bullets.

"Welcome to hell." He says. "Make yourselves at home."

 **Please review! The next chapter will begin with that last line.**


End file.
